


Fabricated

by WolfOfHearts



Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crack Treated Seriously, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Road Trips, Science Fiction, Stuffed Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2020-05-07 09:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 51,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfOfHearts/pseuds/WolfOfHearts
Summary: XCOM 2's events loom on the horizon of a Earth XCOM-less and boasting smarter Elders. Luckily, someone else has taken notice of the intruders- stuffed animals, and they're not willing to let the aliens have the planet or the destruction of humanity that easily. Follows Pillow Central and co's attempts to inform and prevent, as well as some inner self discovery along the way.





	1. Chapter One

He should be grateful. But it hurts.

That is all Pillow Central can think of as he lies face down on the floor, convulsing every so slightly. Espeon sits near, her paw stroking where his conscious mind insists is the back of his head but that he knows is nothing but blank silk.

On the other side of him, Kitty inspects him every so often, sniffing along where silk branches into astral, gently gently touching and yet making him softly cry out against the floor. She murmurs softly to him, soft things that try to assure him it will be over soon, that he is being blessed, that the Awakening of these arms and legs and hands and feet is good.

But all Pillow Central can think about is how much it hurts. It burns like how he remembers plasma does, sees in the back of his mind flesh boiling, bubbling, slipping away burnt to expose muscle and bone. He thinks there should be blood, where is the blood, there should be so much blood, but there is nothing but the rug and hardwood floor.

He thinks, faintly, faintly, that it he is glad the Owner is away still, even though such a thought makes him feel guilty and sick— he should instead wish to be there with the human, to protect and soothe and help; it's what he was made to do, what they are all made to do, after all.

Pillow Central swears, both at his body and at the Elders, because it's their fault it has come to this, isn't it? From the moment that one rose from the stuffed bodies they lay dormant in, the Awakening had sparked in him- he had felt it in his stomach, in the buzz behind his eyes, but he hasn't expected... none of them had expected this so soon. But no one had been able to do anything when the Elder left, and they are the only ones who know. It's as Kitty says: "This will let us do something. This will let us warn them. You must go and warn them."

He grits his teeth together to keep down a scream as lighting races down the astral legs into newly forming feet, feels false tears prick into his eyes.

"It's not real," Pillow Central says, although he's not sure who he says it to; it's more a moan of horror then anything else, and yet Kitty and Espeon and Alice answer: "It is, it is, it's almost done, just hang on".

He does not want to hang on. He does not want to deal with this, or what comes next. He wants to fall asleep, to reverse the Awakening—

Except he does not? He isn't sure. He is not sure of anything.

It hurts.

Time passes. He does not know if it is minutes, or hours, or days, but slowly the pain eases and he no longer feels phantom blood pouring from growing limbs, no longer feels the sting of development, only the movement of arms and legs and such that he can faintly see.

Pillow Central sits up, pushes himself so that he is no longer flat against the floor, and the astral limbs shake as he uses them for the first time. Espeon, asleep on his back, springs to life at the movement, and exclaims incoherently in excitement at him.

"You did it!" she practically yells, ignoring Kitty's frantic attempts to shush her and Alice's chiding reminder to keep under wraps. "You did it! PC, you depressed body pillow bastard, you're a real boy now!"

Kitty sighs and boxes Espeon in the mouth; the force of the hit knocks the purple Pokémon over, but does not shut her up. Kitty shakes her head with a sigh, but the stitching of her mouth has curled up in a smile. "You are something special," she says, softly, not to him but still audible.

Louder, she says, "You are to go out, aren't you? You should get dressed. The Owner has clothes that they won't miss."

"Clothes don't hide this," he mumbles, grasping the back of the chair at the computer desk to haul himself to his feet. Or, well, upright- the astral feet end at the bottom of the pillow, and the printed ink does not change when he steps; he can only feel it, only watch as it translates to shuddering shuffling of his physical form across the room to the closest. He fumbles with the doorknob, not quite sure for a moment how to operate it.

When he dresses, the astral limbs fill out the sleeves and pants and socks and shoes like human limbs would, and soon enough, with his pillowed self hidden under a hoodie and jeans and a scarf and a hat and a old goalball mask with the blackout tape removed, he stands in front of the hallway mirror, holding Kitty and Espeon and Alice in his arms as he stares.

There's a soft shuffling, and Pillow Central ooks down to see Hope Bunny, staring with with their stitched shut eyes. The cream bunny studies him, and then gives him the tiniest nod as Awakened stitches unravel and slide away to allow them to point with their small paws.

"You," Hope Bunny says, paw trembling slightly as it picks out Espeon. "And you." The paw moves to Alice. "Go with. Save the humans. Save the world."

"Oh, shit, we about to XCOM road trip in this bitch," Espeon says. Pillow Central covers her mouth with a finger.

"Oh no, I couldn't," Alice begins, but Hope Bunny lifts their head, and she falls quiet.

"Yes, go," they say. "Warn them. And find the Elders. Force them back. Force them dormant. Prevent the game."

They look at Pillow Central's concealed form. "You will pass," they say. "You will be our relay. Our brawn." A look toward Alice. "You will be our brain." And then to Espeon. "And you, our humors."

"Oooh, sidekick role, fancy," Espeon says.

"Leave now," Hope Bunny says. "Time is short for departure. The magic of wakefulness will aid you."

"I'm not sure this is... a great idea," Pillow Central says.

"We're about to go on the adventure of a lifetime and you wanna chicken out?" Espeon asks.

"I'm not one for adventures, really..." Pillow Central says. For all his memories, he himself has never done more then shuffle around; god, he has never even left this room.

"Go," implores Hope Bunny. "You must."

"First things first," Alice says, "we need some stuff. Money, a car, a ID... guess the magic will help with that."

"I really think we could do this some other way," Pillow Central says. "Couldn't we... email someone who'd care?"

"Do you think they'd believe some random? I wouldn't," Espeon says. "'Sides, the pictures we have should be hand delivered, not sent across the Internet. We should probably stay off that, now that I think about it..."

"Absolutely," Alice says. "It would make us much easier to track if we were to use it."

Pillow Central sighs heavily. "Let me clear out the school bag," he says.

"Fuck yeah, let's go save humanity!"

"This is not fun, Espeon."

"Eat my entire purple ass, we'll make it fun."

"Oy gevalt."


	2. Chapter Two

The Awakening magic works quickly, now— it must sense the urgency of the situation. Pillow Central finds parked on the side of the road outside a old dark blue truck, unlocked and ever slightly singing with the pulsations of magicka. 

In the passengers seat, a folder with official documents (a driver’s license, a birth certificate, a Social Security card, a ID card and key back to the Owner’s room) a wallet stuffed with cash and a pair of bank cards (one credit, one debit), and a old laptop and iPhone that light at his touches; in the back the seats have been removed to create a sleeping space, filled with pillows and blankets and sporting AC adapters for his electronics. 

Pillow Central takes the driver’s license from the folder and puts the rest away in the glove box, tucks the laptop under a pillow in the back, and shoves the wallet, phone, and key into his pocket. He sets Alice and Espeon in the now empty passenger seat, and then sits himself at the wheel, realizing that his hands (now visible as regular human hands to those who see him) are shaking.

“I don’t know how to drive this,” he says.

“Trust in Awakening,” Alice answers. “It’ll guide you.”

“Very unprofessional sounding advice from a science and research loving therapist,” he murmurs, but finds she’s right— he lets his hands fall to where they tug to, listens to the slight hum of being that dictates how to push on the pedals and move the stick, and all at once he is driving down the street, the truck rumbling and bumpy from its age. 

“This is weird,” he says, as if speaking the feeling of oddity will lessen it. 

“Welcome to humanity, it’s all weird here,” Espeon answers.

He makes a noise in his throat, and then his breath catches- he doesn’t have a throat, not really; the printed ink he perceives as his body is nothing more then that, the astral limbs only a replacement for what he lacks. He has so little compared to so many of the others—

“Dude, that’s a green light,” Espeon says, as a honk breaks him from his spiral. 

“Oh,” he says, rather hollowly. “Right.”

They drive in silence for a while, Pillow Central curbing the innate need to gaze in awe at the city into a perhaps overly tense focus on the road. Alice speaks suddenly when they come to another red light. “Let’s go to the store,” she says. “The beings there might have heard things.”

Pillow Central swallows, squashes the looming momentary inner crisis about the action that is not a action, and then nods. He pulls the phone from his pocket and soon enough, the tinny GPS voice is ringing out in the quiet of the truck. 

The rest of the trip to the Target is uneventful, but even still Pillow Central begins to fiddle nervously with the strings of his hat as he parks (with some difficulty and mocking from Espeon). He looks down at the others from where he stands in the truck doorway.

“Just ask some of the Easter displays if they’re heard anything,” says Alice. Her yellow stitched :3 mouth flickers at him. “You’ll be fine. No one really notices anyone else unless you make a scene, you just think they notice because you’re anxious and put too much importance on yourself.”

“Thanks for the free therapy,” he says, and it comes out a little more snippy then he means it too. “Sorry,” he follows up quickly, “I’m just... this is all really new.”

“It is for all of us,” Alice says. “But no worries, Central— I lived Awoken in a Target for weeks before I was chosen, and I assure you, no one in there cares about you.” A pause. “Er, in the sense they don’t care about what you are doing. As long as you’re not shoplifting, I don’t think pausing and whispering to the stuffed rabbits will get you many looks.”

“Okay,” he says, still tugging at his hat strings. “If things go wrong—“

“That’s very unlikely,” she interrupts. “Take a deep breath.”

He does, ignores the blaring scream in his head of ‘you’re not REALLY breathing, you’re not really alive!’, reaches over and gives Alice a last nervous tick rub of one her ears between his fingers before he shuts the truck door and makes his way across the parking lot.

It’s easy enough getting inside, just go through the door that slide open when he approaches, but once there he stops, and the thundering need in his chest to stare manifests— he stands in the lobby, blinking against the manila colored floor’s light glare, eyes sweeping across the registers and the clothing and beyond.

Pillow Central feels, all at once, very out of place.

The feeling evaporates as a man roughly moves past him; he takes a few hesitant steps, waiting for someone to point at him and call him out on his non humanity, but no one does, and he finds he is able to walk down the aisles relatively unaccosted.

It takes a accidental turn into the grocery area and then a slightly uncomfortable wandering through the woman’s clothing section before he manages to find the stuffed animals. There’s obviously Easter theming going on— there’s rabbits and deer and chicks, all piled on top of each other, limp and soft to the touch. 

He wonders how many are Awake, how many are scared because of it, how many are not. 

On the bottom rack of the stuffed animal shelves are a few larger toys; one he recognizes as a Squishmallow from the Owner’s amazon account wishlist- this one is a unicorn, and not the cat they want, but it’s familiar enough. 

Pillow Central leans down, picks up the toy, and wow. He can’t help but squish them a little. They are very nice to squeeze. He feels his cheek flush at the action, and then there’s the creeping horror of that being simulated, and then a vague nothing as he kicks that feeling away. 

“Excuse me,” he says, quiet, quiet.

The Squishmallow is silent, but—

“There’s something— there’s these—“ He stumbles over how to begin, absently squeezes the Squishmallow again. He settles with a easier question: “Are you Awake?”

Just so slightly, he sees the embroidered eyes narrow. He smiles, breathes a sigh of relief. “Sorry to keep squeezing you...” he says.

“It’s ok,” says the Squishmallow. It stares at him with unblinking eyes. “Do you need something? I’ve never seen anyone do what you’re doing.” It’s voice is like a child’s, high and squeaky.

“Yeah, I was wondering if... if you’ve heard anything strange? Relating to stuffed animals?”

“Like recalls?” 

“Anything,” he says. “I’m looking for anything.”

The eyes narrow a little more, this time in thought.

“I heard a little girl say she saw her stuffed dog move,” it says. Pillow Central holds in a snort; kids are easier to Awake around, and to be Awake around, but Kitty told him they’re also much more likely to perceive Awakening where it isn’t. 

(“Powerful little creatures,” she said, quite dreamily. “Sticky, colorful, powerful little ones.”)

Besides, stalking and breaking and entering is not something Pillow Central is quite ready to do, especially to a child. That’s... too weird. Even with alien occupation on the line, he’s not quite ready to do that. Maybe next week. 

He’s not hit peak XCOM, is what he’s trying to say. 

“Anything else?” 

The Squishmallow thinks. “Go ask Creeper,” it says finally. “In the fourth aisle, with the Minecraft Stuff. You know Minecraft, don’t you?”

Pillow Central nods; he knows Minecraft very well. It’s one of the Smalls’ favorite games. 

“He’s been Awake forever,” the Squishmallow goes on, “but never been bought; he’ll know something.”

“Thanks,” Pillow Central says as he sets the Squishmallow back.

“Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing,” it answers. 

“Good luck getting, uh, purchased,” he says, and feels something in him lighten at the sound of the Squishmallow laughing as he heads to the recommended aisle.


	3. Chapter Three

He passes the dolls, and the movies, and the books, and turns into a aisle of plastic toys. On one of the shelves is a cardboard display box, filled with small stuffed animals that resembles the creatures from Minecraft. In the corner of it is a lopsided Creeper. 

Pillow Central approaches, and before he has even picked it up, he hears the hiss.

“Hey, hey, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“You risssk discovery,” it answers. It’s voice is raspy. “You ssspit in the face of what we are all taught. What do you think you are doing?”

Pillow Central feels a beat in his chest reminiscent of a human heart, but he knows better. “Humanity’s at stake; there are aliens hiding in stuffed animals that only just recently decided Now was time to come out,” he says. “I’m looking for information.”

“Ssso you come to a chain ssstore?” The Creeper is not impressed.

“Look, I thought since you guys hear all sorts of things, you’d have something to offer,” he says. 

The Creeper is quiet. Then: “Hazel.”

“What?”

“Ssshe’s a regular,” it says. “No one wantsss to go home with her. Ssshe’s mean; ssshe cuts toysss up and turnsss then into Frankstiensss. But recently ssshe hasn’t come. We are worried.” 

“I’m not going to intrude on someone’s house”, Pillow Central says. 

“You don’t have to,” Creeper says. “Ssshe hangs her creationsss on her front yard tree. Like I sssaid, she’s mean. Find that tree, talk to thossse poor sssouls. They’ll certainly have sssomething for you.” 

“It’s nearby, this uh... tree?”

“You’ll be hardpresssed to misss it.”

“Ok,” Pillow Central says, “look for the tree with the disfigured stuffed animals on it. Got it. Anything else?”

The Creeper considers. “Ssstay low,” it says. “Don’t be a hero. Not for the humansss. Do it for usss.”

Something lashes in Pillow Central’s chest at that, but he swallows a retort, just nodding instead and setting the Creeper back down as he walks away. 

He ends up buying a sewing kit and a coloring book (with crayons); the sewing kit in case something happens, the book for Espeon because she will get bored and he doesn’t need her pestering while he drives. 

He reaches the car; as soon as he shuts the door, Espeon begins to speak.

“What did you see? Did any humans talk to you? Did you buy any- oh!” 

She silences as he drops the book and crayons on her head. She inspects them, and then grins at him. “Thanks,” she says.

“I tried to find something you’d actually like,” he says as he drives out of the parking lot. 

Alice has seated herself on the sewing kit. “What did the residents say?” she asks.

“A squishmallow directed me to a Creeper, who told me about this regular shopper- a woman who cuts up and then resews stuffed animals. Hangs them on her tree. We’re going there.”

Espeon looks up from the fish she has began to color bright green. “That seems like a bad idea,” she says. “I’m a stuffed animal.”

“We all are,” he says. “Sort of.”

“I doubt she would harm us,” Alice says. “For all intents and purposes, we belong to you at the moment, Central. Humans don’t usually cut up and mutilate things that don’t belong to them, and even fewer cut up and mutilate something that walks and talks like they do.”

“Still,” Espeon says, “I’m staying in the truck when we get there.”

“Your choice,” Alice says. She turns to Pillow Central. “I would like to accompany you in inspection of this tree. I am curious as to what this kind of traumatic rebuilding would do to a Awakened being.”

“That’s a bit morbid, Alice,” he says.

“Sorry,” she says. “I would like to try to make them feel better, if it is any consultation to know my intentions.”

“Hard to feel better when you’ve got a fifth of your body and are hanging from a plant,” Espeon says.

“Let’s just scope it out first,” he says. “Then we’ll let Alice play therapy.”


	4. Chapter Four

It takes a little driving around, but they find Hazel’s tree of misfit toys eventually. Pillow Central parks on the curb opposite, and with Alice tucked into his hoodie pocket, approaches.

Even without words, as he gets near, he sees the hurting. He feels eyes on him as he reaches up and gently pets the head of a mismatched pokemon plushie- part of it is a Jolteon, the other a Umbreon. The prices alternate, paws and ears and tail. He sees the pupil of the red eye move; it looks toward his fingers.

“Those aren’t real,” it says, and its voice is raspy. 

“Hello,” says Alice from the hoodie pocket. The Frankenstein-Pokemon looks down at her, and Pillow Central is glad the attention is off him. “Are you... what is it like,” she continues, “to be in your state?”

“What do you think?” snaps the plushie, and both eyes narrow. Then they soften again, and a smaller, kiddish voice says “It hurts. I’m scared.” 

“Be not frightened,” says Alice, but she trials off, and Pillow Central feels her shift uncomfortably in his pocket. 

“I’m sorry she did this to you,” Pillow Central says. Louder, he says “I’m sorry she did this to all of you.”

Somewhere, higher in the tree, a plushie begins to wail, ignoring the hisses and shushes it brings. Pillow Central looks nervously around, but the occasional cars just continue pass, and there are no walkers on the street. 

“She’s selling us now,” says the one at his hands. “She puts things inside us.”

If it was possible for his ears to perk, they would. “Things?” he asks.

“We don’t know what they are,” says the Jolteon side. “We’ve never seen stuff like it before. It’s metal bits and green rock...”

Alarms go off in Pillow Central’s head. Metal bits and green rock sounds uncannily like alien weapon fragments. “Do you know where she got these things?”

The plushie shakes its head. “You could buy one and see for yourself,” it says, and then laughs bitterly.

“Perhaps we will,” Alice says, and Pillow Central glances down at her. 

“We will?”

“It would be interesting to get to know one of these souls better, and you stiffened when it described the things— you think there’s something there.” 

“So I’m gonna... have to talk to her.”

“It really isn’t that hard,” Alice says. “Humans are very very easily manipulated, and are very unperceptive.”

He shifts foot to foot. “Okay,” he says finally. 

“She’s home now,” says a plushie hanging above him from a string around its neck; it wears a face similar to Espeon, and it hurts to look at. “You should hurt her. Hurt her like she’s hurt us.”

“I can’t do that,” he says.

“Sure you could,” it says, and it rattles its body at him, a mockery of laughter, something inside making a sound similar to the noise he’s heard from rattlesnake videos. “You’re just enamored.”

“Human lover,” hisses another.

“They’ll cut you up!”

“They’ll burn you alive!”

“They don’t really care about us! We’re just toys.”

The one at his hands nods affirmatively at the jeers. “If they cared, they wouldn’t do this.” 

“Like all her kind, she doesn’t know,” Alice begins, only to be drowned out by louder wailing and the angry calls of “Seasonal prop!” “Doorstop!” “Dog toy!” 

One of them, slightly elevated, sneers at Pillow Central as he passes on the way toward the woman’s front door. “I bet your ‘owner’ doesn’t even love you. Not like they would a real toy. You’re not even a animal,” it says, flicking its Flareon ears.

“You’re just a soft thing for their heads! You’re not better then a teenager’s fuck toy!” howls another, lashing a long Vaporeon tail.

The jeers fall quiet as he stiffly steps up onto the porch and knocks on the door. Pillow Central tucks his hands into the hoodie, gently rubs one of Alice’s ears between his fingers; he feels her place a paw on his hand, and the touch makes the hot red anger pooling in his stomach cool. 

“Listen not,” she murmurs. “They are only saying what they know.”

He does not get a chance to answer; the door opens, and the woman who he guesses is Hazel is standing in the doorway, staring at him from beneath her auburn bangs.

She’s in a tank top, and jean shorts that fray at the bottom. Pink flip flops clash with the black and neon rainbow leggings. She twists her nose piercing as he gapes. “You want something or what?” she asks, and her voice drawls Texan more then the owner’s ever has. 

“Your— uh, the tree—“ 

“Yeah? You from the city? You can’t make me take it down, it’s my property—“

“No, no,” he says quickly, “I- I want one.”

She blinks. “Well,” she says, “that’s something. I haven’t had a order in a while.”

Pillow Central frowns. That contradicts what the plushies on the tree told him. But maybe she’s keeping those under wraps, if she really is sending out toys with weapon fragments hidden in them.

“My, uh, my nephew bought one from you,” he says, “and said there was weird hard things it in it? So I came to personally get them a new one.”

Hazel squints at him. “I don’t remember selling to any boys recently,” she says. 

“It might have been late last year, you know how busy the holidays are,” he says.

“You got the old one? I don’t take kindly to people claiming my products got something in it,” she says.

“Um, they uh, they removed the items themselves,” he says, and goddamn it he’s stammering. “But they’re... their sewing skills aren’t great and I don’t know how to do it myself and we thought this would be easiest.”

“What they do with them?” she asks.

“Oh, it’s still with them—“

“Not the plushie, dumbass,” she says, “the stuff inside.”

“Oh, uh, I think they kept a few pieces of it; said it was some kind of rock? And they uh, collect rocks...” If he could sweat, he’s certain he’d be sweating now.

Hazel studies him. “You’re too fidgety,” she says finally. “And no one would be wearing that get up at any point in this state.” Her eyes narrow. “What do you want, really?”

He feels Alice press her paw harder against his hand. He glances around, and steps a little closer. “I know there’s something weird going on,” he says. “I want to help.”

Hazel is quiet.

“A - a anonymous source told me you’re putting unknown materials inside your orders,” he says. “And I really— you really shouldn’t be doing that. Not with what you’ve got.” He shifts. “I’m with the government,” he says, and wow now he’s barreling toward XCOM levels here we go, “and we’ve had a few other instances like yours-“ 

“So you know what it is?”

He avoids her eyes. “Yes.”

“Then you’ve caught me, govie. And I guess then I’ve got something to show you. Maybe you’ll know what to do with it,” she says, and gestures for him to come inside. 

He hesitates, the words from the tree plushies echoing in his head, Espeon’s fearful expression in the forefront of his mind. 

Then he thanks her for her cooperation, takes a breath, and steps through the doorway.


	5. Chapter Five

“Before you go hammering me,” she says as she leads the way across a clothes and fabric strewn living room, “I only sent out two orders with the stuff in them. To my friends; they’re engineers. Thought maybe they’d know what to make of it.” 

She pauses, tells him the numbers of her engineer friends, and he notes them in his phone. Somewhere, as he types, a door shakes as a unseen dog barks and throws itself against it. Hazel yells for it to shut up, shakes her head. 

“That’s still, um, not good,” Pillow Central says, putting away the phone as he steps over the sewing machine and boxes in the cramped hall as she leads him into the kitchen. 

“I know, govie, but arrest me later,” she snaps. 

It’s small, pots and pans and unwashed plates, a fridge coated in stickers and a sink full of potato skins. She opens the freezer, pulls out a squashed black bag, and opens it with the mouth toward him.

Pillow Central looks inside.

It’s mauled, and freezer burnt, but it’s still grey pink and bug eyed. Pillow Central looks up from the bag at Hazel. “How did you...?”

“Dog brought its leg to me,” she says. “Went back for the rest and I followed him. Found this and the pieces I sent out.”

“So it was dead when you found it?”

She nods.

He grimaces. “Still not a great sign,” he says, mostly to himself.

“What is it?” she asks. “Some kind of alien?”

“I’m not sure,” he says, careful, careful. “But if you let me take it, I can find out.”

Hazel squints at him. “You’re not gonna arrest me?”

“No,” he says. “Just give me this and tell me the address of your friends; I’ll need to get those fragments too.”

“What is it though?” 

“We aren’t sure,” he says, and the lie hurts, but he’s gonna stick with it. “We haven’t gotten anything solid yet, so you’re doing us a favor providing a body. We only had pictures before.”

“Better you have it then me,” she says, and ties the bag shut. She hands it to him. “You’ll wanna get a cooler or something,” she says, “or it’ll stink up your car.” A pause. “Well, maybe. Maybe it doesn’t decompose.”

Memories flicker in his head, memories that aren’t real aren’t real never were. “We’ll find out I guess,” he manages.

There’s a knock at the door then, and a muffled voice calls ‘FBI, open up.’

“Uh oh,” says Pillow Central. 

Hazel rounds on him, eyes flashing. “I thought you were the FBI,” she hisses.

“Uh, well—“

More knocking, another yell. 

“Are you some sort of criminal?” she asks, and then darts to the side of the kitchen, ducking into a corner where she grabs a broom and welds it like a bat. “Don’t get any closer!”

The knocking at the door becomes more insistent. Pillow Central’s grip on the bag tightens. “I’m not what they’re here for,” he says, “I don’t think so anyway. I’d bet they’re here for this. Did you... did you contact any authorities?”

“No!” she snaps. “I hate the police!” 

“Then why did you let me in?”

“You seemed stupid enough to not be trouble, but I guess I was wrong,” she says, and swings the broom at him. It catches him in the side and bongs off harmlessly. 

“What the hell!” Hazel says.

He doesn’t stick around to let her swing again; he sprints out of the room, staggering as he runs into unpacked boxes in hall. There’s another yell at the door, something about forced entry.

“She’s coming!” he calls, and lunges for a door that he hopes is to the garage by the fact it’s got a coat hanger next to it. 

He hears Hazel scrambling behind him; she yells something at him, and the. Yells at the banging at her door. In that moment Pillow Central manages to get the door open and —

Thank god, it is a garage. 

He fumbles in the dark next to the door for the door button, slaps it once he finds it. The garage door heaves itself open, creaking, and Pillow Central streaks across the space, half ducking under to get out.

He sprints down the driveway, fingers digging into the black plastic of the bag. Two men in black at the porch turn and look at him as he scrambles last; he hears one of them shout at him. 

He fumbles for his keys as he darts across the street, is nearly around the car when the shot rings out.

The faint “what the hell” does not register to Pillow Central until he’s jumped into the truck and is speeding it down the street, nor does the pain in his stomach until he’s driven tires screaming out back onto the main room.

He feels the phantom blood, then, the slowly spreading and increasing tendrils of pain then. 

“Oh my god, did they shoot me?” he asks, one hand jumping from the wheel to pat at his body. 

“Um, what is this?” Espeon asks him back, muffled under the bag of Sectoid. 

“Later,” he says as he pulls Alice from the hoodie. “Alice—“

As he flings her onto the dashboard, she sighs. “Yes,” she says, “you’ve been shot. You’ll be fine, though; there’s only a need to sew up the entry and exit holes—“

He wildly looks into the car mirror, sharply turns on the next road he sees, slams a hand against the window. 

Magicka pulses, and the blue of the car rear view mirror changes red. The cabin shifts, expands. 

“Oh, incredible,” Alice says. 

“Not incredible,” Pillow Central says, and it’s out of breath. “Bad! Bad!”

“No one would believe them,” she says.

“The license plate—“

“—probably changed as well. We are fine.”

“I have a hole in my stomach!”

“And unlike a human, it will pose you little determent to leave it that way. Drive, Bradford.”

Espeon has wiggled our from beneath the bag, and is looking between him and Alice with widened eyes. 

“Ohhhh, what did you do?” she asks, in the way a younger sibling does when they know their Elder has gotten into trouble.

“Got the evidence I needed that we need to work faster,” he says between his perception of gritted teeth. 

“What cryptic bullshit—“

“The thing in the bag is a alien, Espeon.” says Alice, much more calm then pillow Central thinks she should be. 

“Oh shit, it’s real xcom hours!”

“I’m going to throw you out this window into the highway,” Pillow Central says.

“Real! XCOM! Hours!” 

“Yeah, it’ll be real XCOM hours alright...if we get caught,” he mumbles, and then feels the sensation of nonexistent blood leaving where he perceives his face to be— there is a unmarked white van behind them, and maybe it’s his gut or maybe it’s Awakening, but he knows those guys from Hazel’s are in it.

“Shit,” he says.”

“There is no need to panic,” Alice says.

“What did you do?” Espeon asks again. 

“Pretended to be from the government, ended up the actual government showed up right after me, they saw me running, they shot me, here we are,” he says, before switching lanes roughly; Alice goes flying into the new backseat of the now minivan.

“Ow,” she says.

Pillow Central mutters a sorry as he speeds up. The van is getting closer, weaving through the traffic. 

“Me-ow,” Espeon laughs, but it turns to a screech of “OH FUCK, LOOK OUT!”

“Look out for—“

There is a screaming of rubber on asphalt, Espeon howling, and then a shrieking metal past metal— he spins desperately away. Pillow Central can see right through his to the van’s now that the cars been spun in a total half circle; the shorter man is in mid yell when the two cars finally crash together. 

Luckily enough, the air bag deploying does little to Pillow Central but push him hard back against the driver’s seat. The glass, however, cut into his astral limbs and makes even more the sensation of bleeding. Espeon has been thrown into the foot well, where she struggles out from beneath the sectoid body bag. 

“I told you to look out,” she says.

“Shut up,” Pillow Central answers. He reaches back for Alice, grabs her, and then nabs the backpack as well. He scrambles for the body bag, shoves it inside, and then puts Alice and Espeon on top of it before he exits the car. 

From the outside he can see the passenger side sustained the most damage, but there is no fire, and he thanks Awakening for that. The van looks more worse for wear then his truck, and much more then the Kia that he initially attempted to avoid ramming. 

He is about to walk away from the scene when something catches his eye. 

One of the doors of the vans has been knocked clean off, and something lies on the ground— a briefcase, its contents fluttering away into the wind despite the efforts of the taller man to catch them. The shorter man is looking around the area, and seems in great distress. 

Something gleams green on the edge of his vision as he looks the scene back and forth and he steps back— there, under the truck, by the back right tire, near him. Something shimmering. Something round.

He bends down and reaches toward it, gets his hand upon it—


	6. Chapter Six

All at once, Pillow Central is no longer on the side of the road beside a car crash.

Instead, he is staggering in what he thinks is a bathroom from the white tiles and the black linoleum sink on one wall, blinking green light from his eyes. He steadies himself with the wall, finds he is panting. With one hand that shakes more then it should he reaches over and pushes the door lock to its ‘locked’ position. 

How lucky this is a single occupant bathroom. 

He moves the hand back to feel under his layers and down across body, his true body, and locates where the bullet went through. It’s a clean hole through his right hip; he can wiggle a finger in it, and that hurts more then it should, so he stops.

He slides the backpack off and sits, takes out Alice and Espeon, both of whom immediately start peppering him with questions which he ignores as he pulls out the sewing kit. He tries to thread the needle, misses.

“Central.”

He tries again, misses.

“Hey, we’re talking to you, dude!” 

Again, another miss. He is suddenly struck with how exhausted he feels. 

“Bradford, we are concerned.”

He looks over at them. There’s a rip in Espeon’s ear, probably from the flying glass. He glances back at his sewing kit- there’s dark purple, which will have to work.

“John.”

The name so rarely used shocks him to his senses. “Alice?”

She waves a small paw at the bathroom around them, her painted eyes more rounded then usual, a expression of worry and... he has never seen her look so scared before.

“John, what have you done?” 

It is not accusatory, but something in him feels guilt anyway.

“I’m not sure I follow,” he says.

“This is not our car,” she says. “Nor is it the street sidewalk. This is a bathroom. How did we get here.”

He has a choice, he realizes. They were in the backpack. They didn’t suddenly loose their sight to green vibrancy, didn’t suddenly just exist in this space. 

“Calm down,” he says, and hopes his voice is laid back enough to hide the shaking it must have, “I just walked.”

Alice frowns but says nothing; Espeon lashes her tail. “You’re a shitty driver,” she says.

“I was a bit distracted,” he says, and winces as he begins in earnest the process of stitching his wound. Espeon jumps up onto his leg to peer closer.

“How will you do the back?” she asks.

“Not sure,” he says.

“I can attempt,” Alice says, “but I lack the nuance of fingers so perhaps...” She twitches her ears. “Maybe it is best I do not try after all.”

“One side will have to do for now,” he says, as he ties off the now closed seam; the scoots shake in his hands as he cuts the thread, and the shakes don’t stop as switches thread colors and then gently cups Espeon’s face with his free hand. “I’m gonna fix your ear.” 

“Oh,” says Espeon. “Ok.”

“So hold still. And don’t shout.”

“I’m not gonna—!” Her words break off into a yell as he begins to sew. He stops and glares.

“It hurt,” she says.”

“I know,” he answers. “Just give me a few more moments.”

It’s over in a few short seconds, and then he puts away the kit into the backpack before putting it on. With Alice in one hand and Espeon in the other he stands up. 

“Now what?” Espeon asks. “Our car’s bust.”

“Awakening will provide,” Alice says. 

“I don’t think it’ll be that easy,” Pillow Central says. Faintly beyond the door he can hear music, and people, and he isn’t quite sure what out there. 

All he really knows is what a dorm sounds like. Well, that and a Target. Everything else has been stories, and so many human things fit ‘people and music’. 

He puts Alice and Espeon into the hoodie pocket, each poking out slightly from either end. Espeon looks up at him. “Does it still hurt?” she asks.

(There should be blood. He should be dead.)

“Yes,” he answers, and leaves through the bathroom door.


	7. Chapter Seven

It’s a bar. 

Pillow Central sits in a corner of a booth, phone out. According to Google, he’s somewhere in El Paso, which doesn’t make sense, can’t make any sense, but he’s growing too tired to care. 

He lifts his eyes to the TVs mounted on the walls- sports. He knows it’s baseball, and then on another monitor football, but doesn’t recognize the teams. It must be some kind of game day anyway; the bar is packed with younger folks who chatter loudly and occasionally break into shouting when the sports goes whatever way. 

No one really pays attention to the man in the corner on his phone, which is enough. He leans his head back against the seat, and sorely misses the sleeping area of the truck. What he would give for that now... 

“Why am I even tired?” he asks, the whining mostly to himself. “I don’t have powerhouse cells or whatever, I shouldn’t get tired...”

“That isn’t how that works,” says Alice quietly from his pocket.

He grunts, idly paws at his phone; nothing about aliens, plenty about the government, things he knows the owner cares about, would yell about if they saw. A server comes weaving through the crowd toward him, a man with brushed up blonde hair and a name tag reading ‘Davey’. 

“Can I get you anything?” the man asks.

Pillow Central looks up from the phone, hesitates. He tried to eat, once, back on the dorm. Espeon had laughed and laughed at his disappointment, while Kitty assured him he didn’t want to deal with human things like that anyway. 

“No, thank you,” he says finally. 

Davey hovers. “Alright,” he says when it’s clear Pillow Central isn’t rethinking his choice, “but I’ll be around if you change your mind.” He walks off to another table.

Pillow Central kicks at the underside of the booth. Maybe eating would make him feel better, if he could eat. Another thing just out of reach in this damn half existence. 

“At least we still have the body,” Espeon says when he’s been quiet for a moment too long. “That’s good, right?”

“Makes us a target,” Pillow Central mumbles. 

“But it makes us believable as well,” Alice says.

“Shoulda just let the actual people who’ve been trained to do this do this,” he says. “I’m just wasting time—“

“They know not of the Elders, and would not believe us if we told,” Alice says. “With this we have physical proof that would otherwise be subject to the slow process of human research. We don’t have that kind of time. We need it to get to the top, and we need it to happen now.” 

She pauses. “Fret not, we will be fine.”

“You don’t sound so convinced of that yourself,” he says. 

“Maybe not, but I know that fretting will not get us anywhere.” He feels her wiggles from his pocket, and he helps her up onto the table. 

“What now?” he asks.

“We find somewhere to rest, and wait for magic,” she says.

“And after that?”

“We need to confirm those items were fragments, don’t we? We will do that, providing those individuals have not been taken in for questioning.”

“What if they have?” 

Her eyes meet his. “You have already gone ‘full XCOM’ once, I am sure you can do it again.”

He groans, and she laughs, and for a moment, everything is alright.


	8. Chapter Eight

Eventually he grows tired of the noise and pulse of the bar, and steps outside to clear his head. It’s a cloudy night, and he blinks in the dark of the parking lot.

A pair of college kids are hanging out besides a truck bed, one of them lighting a cigarette. Pillow Central, standing near the doorway, feels nonexistent heartbeats skip, feels anxiety pulse in his stomach— Kitty calls it a instinct, to be so afraid of fire as they are, but he isn’t sure it would qualify as such when the beings aren’t alive. 

He sits down on the sidewalk outside the door, idly brining Espeon from his pocket and petting her head. Gravel crunches. He looks up into the dark eyed face of one of the college students. They’re obviously a little tipsy, and he stiffens slightly as they reach into their pocket, and then he settles again as they bring out a handkerchief and dab at their nose with it. 

“Pokémon fan?” they ask.

“Yeah,” he says. He can’t drag his eyes away from the single lock of bright white hair on the their head. 

“You getting the new game that’s coming out? Dweeb over there says it’s no more then a cash grab,” the college student says. The other one, leaning against the truck and inhaling on her cig, coughs and sputters indignantly at her friend. 

“Sun and Moon sucked,” she says as she comes over. “It’s nothing but gimmicks now.” She looks down at Pillow Central. “Aren’t from around here, are you?” 

“What gave it away, the clothes?” he asks. 

“Aren’t you hot?” asks the dark eyed college student.

“No, I have- I have a illness. I have to keep warm and covered up,” he says, and it’s not a lie, really. 

“Oh, shit,” says the girl, taking another inhale of her cig. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Pillow Central says. The bar light catches on the girl’s various pins, and he can’t help but gaze over them- there’s a bi flag, and a antifa symbol, and then a couple of enamel pins reflecting the likeness of cryptids. One reads ‘ghost hunters anonymous’, and the design matches the shirt the dark eyed student wears under their black unzipped hoodie. 

The girl catches his gaze. “Part of a club,” she says. “We’re ghost hunters. Eventually cryptid hunters too, but ghosts to start out.”

“Cool,” says Pillow Central. He suddenly remembers the human convention of manners, and almost bashfully goes, “Oh, by the way, I’m Bradford.” He shakes her hand. 

“Call me Tulip,” she says. One foot kicks her friend playfully in the ankle, they swear at her. “This nerd is Alex.”

“Freshman?” he asks. Then, quickly, “My nephew is a freshman at a college near Dallas.” 

“I’m a sophomore,” Tulip says, “nerd is a freshman, and Davey is a senior.”

Pillow Central tucks Espeon back into his pocket and hefts himself to his feet. “As in the server?”

“Yeah, he works here,” Alex says. “We’re waiting for his shift to end so we can go out hunting. We have permissions and everything.” They point a thumb back at the truck. “All sorts of equipment, a camera, sleeping gear—“

“We’re spending the night,” Tulip says. “Hey, if Davey’s cool with it, you could come with. Having a normie around to validate things would be sick.”

“That sounds... interesting,” Pillow Central says. He hasn’t got anything else to do, does he? 

He feels Alice shift in the pocket, the gentle tap of her paw against his body; he realizes she’s speaking in Morse.

CAREFUL, she says.

He shoves a hand into the pocket and finger spells I KNOW back at her. He feels her paws pat at the fingers, no words but gentle feeling, and he softly runs a fingertip against her forehead. 

Espeon’s tail lashes at him moments later, driving his hand back out from the pocket. He looks back at Tulip and Alex, who are both checking their phones. “Point me where you need me,” he says. 

“You carry the camera, ok? It’s easy enough to work it,” Tulip says absently. “I’ll carry the EMP reader and other electronics, and Alex and Davey can carry the sleeping stuff.”

“Ah, that’s boring work,” Alex says. 

“You wanna sleep on haunted wood?” Tulip asks, looking up over at them from her typing. 

“Spooky,” Alex says, putting away their phone. Tulip follows suit. 

“Davey will be coming out any minute,” she says, only to be cut off as the bar door opens and the man himself comes walking out. He runs a hand trough his hair and sighs.

“Busy night?” asks Tulip.

“Feel bad for the late shifters,” he says. “Think some fights are brewing. Among other things.” He notices Pillow Central. “Hey again.”

“Hello,” Pillow Central says.

“Davey, this is Bradford, Tulip’s new pack mule,” Alex says. Pillow Central laughs, Tulip snorts. 

“He’s the normie to our weird,” she explains. Davey looks like he’s going to say something, and then shrugs. 

“I mean, I’m glad to have a extra hand around,” he says. “And someone else to make sure these two don’t do anything super stupid.”

“Hey we’re young, not dumb!” Alex protests. 

“Arguable,” says Davey. He looks at Pillow Central, and then back at his friends. “Let’s get going then; ghosts don’t like to wait.”

As he follows the trio to the truck, and clambers into the back seat next to Davey and some equipment, Pillow Central can almost forget the nervous feeling in his chest. 

Almost.


	9. Chapter Nine

The nervous feeling gets worse when they arrive at the house. He helps unload the truck, hefting bags and a trunk up the creaking stairs into the bedroom the group has picked out for sleeping. He notes a wayward porcelain doll as he goes passing by the next doorway, and wishes he’d asked Kitty about the intersection of Awakening and ghosts.

Not that he’s scared. Not that he’s got a hand in his pocket and is furiously petting both his friend’s heads in a anxious alternation. 

With Tulip’s help he gets the camera going, and he tails the trio as they walk the house, Alex clutching the EMP reader and a tape recorder as they ask for any spirits to make themselves known. 

They weave their way around the downstairs, through a living room covered in sheets and a dining room sparse of table. They poke their nose into the dark bathrooms, Davey spooking himself with a flashlight. 

Then they head back upstairs, giving each room a look over. Pillow Central isn’t sure if the humans can feel it, but when they look into the room of porcelain doll, among the dusty pink walls and canopy veil of the bed there are eyes, and they know. He swallows, hurried out of the room to follow Davey into the one they’re sleeping in. 

This room is much sparser, and the sleeping bags have been laid out, a ouija board taken and set up. Alex lights candles while Tulip waves some herbs and salt around and murmurs in rhyme; Pillow Central isn’t sure what good that’ll do, but the owner has done similar things, and he’s seen their witchcraft work. He supposes it’s just another human eccentricity. 

The trio begin to work with the spirit board, and Pillow Central finds himself excusing from the practice, instead getting up to gently leave the room with the door shutting behind him with a click. The faint murmur of the students drifts through the dark, and Pillow Central swallows again.

“Are you scared?” whispers Espeon. “Boo!”

“Shut up,” he hisses, and finds himself drawn back to that child bedroom, hesitantly pushing open the door to find the doll has moved from on the bed to the floor.

He approaches slowly. The doll’s head moves ever slightly to look up at him. Espeon pops her head out of the pocket. “Ooooh, real spooky,” she says.

“Be nice,” Alice says.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Espeon asks.

“Sure I do,” she says as Pillow Central bends down to gently take the doll into his arms. The porcelain is cold to the touch, and the painted on eyes gaze into his—

“So fragile.”

There is a flash of purple; Pillow Central staggers, dropping the doll as he falls- there is a cracking sound as porcelain meets wood and then amid the footsteps of the approaching humans he hears a gentle hum of disappointment. 

He looks up, and freezes. 

The shape is ghostly, phasing shades of violet; it looks down at the doll with disdain, two hands clasping, the other two motioning at Pillow Central. “What do you gain?” the Elder asks. “You, not even of the flesh you seek to so naively...’protect’.”

Espeon struggles out of his pocket and standing snarling, ignoring the gasps and exclamations of the humans at the doorway. Alice, dislodged in the fall, rights herself and stares up at the Elder with equal distaste.

“Why do you chose my kind to hide in,” she asks, “if you think us so lesser?”

“We had no choice,” says the Elder. “Find a way to survive, or be destroyed by your humans’ governments before we could even begin our most glorious projects.”

“Your projects are bullshit!” Espeon says. “I played XCOM 2, everyone knows what Avatar means!”

“And yet the need remains.” The Elder looks over at the trio of humans, who stare back with phones out and hands shaking. “Unfortunate.”

A blast of purple, and then Pillow Central lunges at the attack, because he can’t let them get hurt, this isn’t their fault—

Green light explodes from his outstretched hands, battles for a moment only as it knocks the Psionic blast off course into the wall; it goes through of course, but there are only splinters and not blood, and that is what he aimed for.

A sudden pain shoots through him, at his core; it feels like fire, like fire, and all at once he is squirming against the floor, desperately remembering ‘stop drop and roll’, desperately trying to ease the sensation that sparks across his body and along his astral limbs. 

The Elder hums, dark, deep. “You know not what you possess,” it says.

“Boy’s got the gift,” yells Espeon. “I want the Gift! I’m a fucking psychic type!” She lashes her tail at the Elder. “Give! Me! Psionics!”

“Your kind cannot handle it,” the Elder says. “See, he burns.”

Alice, as she hops steps over to pIllow Central, glowers up at the Elder. “Then take it from him!”

The Elder pauses. “No, it is more interesting this way.”

“Interesting my ass!” barks Espeon, and jumps at the Elder; she misses by a manner of feet, and the apparition does not spare her a look as it shoots another burst of Psionic energy, this time at her.

“Espeon—!” Pillow Central yells, but he can’t do anything, only lie here in agony on the floor—

The Elder hums again. “A first casualty,” it says. “If you intend for war, then learn to—“

It stops as Alex yells, “Look at her!”

Instead of burning up like she should have, instead of exploding into felt and fiber filling, a glow has concentrated around Espeon’s red gem. She wrenches her head from a position of downward facing pain to look at the Elder again.

“Get! Fucked!” she says, and a smaller Psionic burst comes from her gem; the Elder flickers, and the beam passes harmlessly though the air where it was. 

It does not reappear.

Pillow Central manages to crawl his way to Espeon, where she stands shaking. “Are you ok?”

“I think this is what a caffeine high is,” she says, before her legs go out and she snap reverts to her manufactured form, the glint of Awakening dulled in her embroidered eyes.

“Oh god—“

“Relax,” says Alice as she comes over and touches Espeon. “She is simply in a state similar to human exhaustion. No loss of being or awareness. This happens sometimes.”

He breathes a sigh of relief; as that panic passes, the burn of the psionics returns, and he cries out. Alice looks over from where she stands next to Espeon. “I think the Awakening is unsure of what to do,” she says. “I do not think magic and ... whatever psionics are usually coexist.” 

“It hurts,” he says with a gasp, “like the astral limbs did.”

“Hey, uh, what the fuck,” says Alex. 

Pillow Central looks blearily at the three humans, at their phones and camera that glint with the light of recording. “You better delete that footage,” he says, but there’s not force behind the command, only pain. He dimly notices that one of the humans is putting their phone up, is cupping their hands to their face, that blood is oozing between their fingers. 

“Are you ok?” asks Davey as he comes over and helps Pillow Central to his feet. The latter is shaking slightly, trembling hands gathering up Alice and Espeon into his arms as he rises. He reaches for his backpack, checks on the Sectoid corpse, struggles to heft it onto his shoulders. 

“I think we should leave,” he says around the red fire aching that threatens to consume him. “We can come back, but—“

“Denny’s?” offers Tulip as she puts away her phone.

“Anywhere,” says Pillow Central. “Just need to get out of here for a while.” He can’t sense the Elder, isn’t sure if it’s still around, but the remnants of Psionic energy hang heavy in the air and burn. 

“Denny’s it is, hopefully it’s quiet- I’ve got the beginnings of a headache; last one in the car is a nerd,” Tulip says, and she and Alex go thundering down the creaky wooden stairs. Davey walks with Pillow Central, steadying him.

“What did it mean, when it said you weren’t ‘of the flesh’?” he asks.

“I’ll explain in the car,” Pillow Central says wearily. “I’ll explain everything.”


	10. Chapter Ten

“Isn’t Denny’s cursed?” asks Espeon as they exit the house.

Davey stares. “You’re really talking, aren’t you?” he says, looking at Pillow Central and then at Espeon again. “You’re really alive.”

“Answer the question,” she says.

“It’s not that cursed,” he mumbles, seemingly off guard.

“Our human says it’s got demonic energy,” she explains. Davey frowns. 

“What’s demonic about pancakes?” he asks. “What kind of human do you live with?” A pause. “Wait isn’t Bradford your—“

The horn honks at them, cuts him off, and Pillow Central is grateful. He clambers into the back seat after Davey. 

“Hey, guys, is Denny’s demonic?” Davey asks as Tulip pulls out of the drive way.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” asks Alex, as Tulip answers, “Band kids are demonic, not the restaurants they go to.”

“I knew band kids were evil!” Espeon shouts, making the humans look at her with a mix of concern and amusement.

“I don’t think they’re evil,” says Alex, who is holding a handkerchief to their bleeding nose, “just chaotic.”

“Says the former band kid,” Davey answers.

“Ssssh!”

“Yeah, everyone shut up,” Tulip says. “I’ve got a headache and I’m googling the closest Denny’s and I need to hear the directions or I will drive us into a lake.”

“Ew, water,” says Espeon.

“Of course the cat hates water,” Davey says under his breath.

“Fuck you I’m a Pokémon,” she answers. 

“A Pokémon cat,” he says.

“Can both of you be quiet?” Alex asks.

“Legally I have to say at least 200 words a minute or I die,” says Espeon. 

“You stole that from the Owner,” Alice says, and her voice is tinged with exasperation. 

“Their thing is kvetching, not just talking,” Espeon says.

“Can y’all shut the fuck up?” Tulip asks, voice raising. “Damn stuffed animals are more talkative then people, like Hell guys be quiet!” 

The GPS rings out its directions in the silence that follows. They pull into the mostly empty Denny’s parking lot and leave the car, taking a large empty booth in the back. Pillow Central sets Alice and Espeon on the table, which earns a soft ‘oh that’s cute’ from the waitress as she takes the drinks orders. She gives Alex a extra handful of napkins, which they replace the handkerchief with.

As she walks away, Tulip sets down her phone onto the table, which is playing back the recording of Pillow Central and the Elder.

“So,” she says, “you’re a seasoned ghost hunter.”

Pillow Central stares at her. “I’m sorry?”

She points at the Elder. “Floaty purple thing that came out of the doll. It’s a ghost,” she says. 

“Nah, dude, that’s a alien,” Espeon says.

“It’s incorporeal, how is it a alien?” Alex asks. “Incorporeal means ghost.”

“It’s a Psionic alien,” she says, lolling her head slightly in the absence of eyeballs to rolls. 

“Not everyone has played XCOM 2, Espeon,” Alice says, “be nice.”

“There’s a second X-COM?” Davey asks.

“I thought that was Interceptor,” Alex says.

“No, that one’s fucking bad, the only good one is UFO Defense,” Tulip says. 

“Have you— have you not seen the Firaxis remakes?” Pillow Central asks.

“What’s Firaxis?” asks Tulip and Alex, as Davey says, “Oh I know them, they make Civ.”

“Holy shit,” says Pillow Central.

“Language.” Alice gives him a glare.

“Let! Central! Swear! Let him say fuck!” Espeon says.

“Wow,” Davey says, “you’re not a kid’s toy.”

“I know many bad words,” she says, and puffs out her chest. “ I am the baddest bitch in the Hoard.”

“The Hoard?” questions the humans in unison, and then quiet as the waitress returns with coffees and waters and a notepad for their food orders.

After she leaves, Pillow Central takes a long breath, and says, “That’s what we call the collection of stuffed animals our Owner has. I’m part of it too.” He turns slightly, so that only the trio can see, and unzips his coat- he stares out of ink eyes at them, blinking a few times deliberately. 

“Holy fuck,” says Davey.

“Language,” says Alice again.

“You’re not our mom,” Espeon says.

“I am not his mom, but I am a woman of high society, and swearing is frowned upon,” she says.

“Our home is covered in Oreo packages and ginger ale bottles and our Owner swears like a sailor; you wish you were high society,” Espeon says.

“Did we all just decide to ignore this guy is a body pillow?” Davey says.

“I mean, good for him,” says Tulip. “You’ve got longevity. You could be a anime girl if you wanted to. Is that how that works?”

“I-I could be,” Pillow Central says, taken aback. “I mean, I guess I could. The Owner doesn’t like anime though.”

“Where’d they get... you?” Alex asks, a little hesitant. “Is that offensive? And, uh, nice ribbon too. Very...blue.”

“I’m from one of the Japan Pokémon centers,” Espeon says. “I’m official.”

“You were a gift from the father,” Alice says, “and that is not a good thing.” She sighs as she adds, “I was from Target. Autumnal sale.”

“Good old target, full of shit you don’t need; peak capitalism,” Tulip says with a sigh as Alex asks, “Bad dad?”

“Very,” Alice says. “We have considered smothering him, but that would probably lead to a wrongful arrest.” 

“Back to sentient body pillows for a second here, guys, I’m still not over this—“

“Davey, get with it, it’s 2019 and the world is on track to end. Who gives a shit if stuffed animals and body pillows are sentient?” 

“I think the body pillows care,” says Alex quietly. 

“Yeah, I got lucky,” Pillow Central says. “My Owner isn’t... weird about it. The being a body pillow thing I mean. They don’t know about Awakening. You’re not supposed to.”

“But then everything changed when the aliens attacked,” Espeon says.

“You know ATLA?” 

“We know lots of pop culture. What do you think we do when you humans leave for work and school? Just sit there? ... I mean that’s what the non Awakened ones do but I mean the rest of us.” 

“Toy Story was true all along...” 

“Not really,” says Alice. “Plastic toys rarely Awaken. And we rarely have astral limbs like PC here. Those are special. He’s special.”

Tulip gently takes Pillow Central’s hand in her own. “So this isn’t real?” she asks.

“Not really,” he says, suddenly self conscious. “It’s a — a lot of them have limbs, but I don’t, so the magic is a — it’s like a assistance device.”

He zips his coat back up and shakes his false head. “Look, none of this really matters.” He taps the screen of Tulip’s phone, and it begins to play silently— on screen, past him shoots green Psionic energy. “This matters. Your world- our world- is in danger.”

“No shit,” says Tulip. “A madman’s in the White House.”

“I’m not talking about the screaming yam,” says Pillow Central, and then sighs Alex and Davey snort. “Look that’s what the owner calls him, I’m just lifting from them, please listen.”

“We’re listening,” says Davey through giggles, “go on.”

“These beings, these Elders, they’ve been hiding and studying humans for god knows how long, and that’s bad, because not only do they understand you better, they know about their game,” he says. “XCOM, and XCOM 2, was supposed to be fiction. It wasn’t supposed- there wasn’t supposed to be Elders. But there are, and they’ve seen how we win, how you win, and now they’re on track for making sure no one can get even close to making the resistance side of that narrative a reality.” 

“Wait, wait, do we even have a XCOM?” Tulip asks. 

“What’s that stand for, XCOM?” Alex question as he exchanges bloodied tissues for new ones. 

“X-treme composting,” Espeon says.

“Espeon, I will throw you out of this restaurant,” Pillow Central says. 

To the humans, he says, “Extraterrestrial Combat. In the story, the nations of the world come together and active a international army known as XCOM, which is funded worldwide, and which fights the invasion. Narratively, they lose, which leads to the second game with resistance against the occupation by the Elders and their administration ADVENT. We’re in first game territory, and we don’t to move to second game, especially since this earth probably doesn’t even have a equivalent to XCOM in the first place.”

“So why are you all up in arms? You’re a pillow, they’re toys, it’s not gonna affect you,” Davey says.

“The Elders hid in our kind to avoid our government,” Alice says. “I believe that the magic of Awakening was enough life power to sustain their sleeping forms until they felt ready to move forward with their invasion. Which is now, apparently.”

“We’re trying to get to the White House,” Pillow Central says. “Tell the people at the top directly, get them to do something before Earth falls and ADVENT moves in.”

“I think I’ve seen bits and pieces of the cutscenes from 2; isn’t ADVENT, like, they have really good healthcare,” Alex says. 

“It’s a lie,” Pillow Central says. “All the gene therapy, the housing, the jobs- it’s all to corral humanity and set them up to be processed into this... substance that helps create the vessels the Elders need to survive.”

“So they’re dying?” asks Tulip. “Why don’t they just ask nicely?”

“Because they’re fucking stupid,” Espeon says.

“Because they’re prideful, and arrogant, and believe humanity is lesser,” Alice says. “And because they’re a little dumb, but they’d never admit that.”

“How many elders are there?” Davey asks. 

“Well, there was the one hiding in our Hoard,” Pillow Central says, “and now this one, so at least two. The game wasn’t very clear, so I can’t give you a exact number, sorry.”

“I’ve not deleted my footage,” Tulip says, taking her phone as she speaks, “and I’m not going to.”

“That’s... that’s fine,” Pillow Central says after a moment. “Keep it. Just don’t... share it unless things go down the drain. We really don’t need the government going after stuffed animals when there’s a alien invasion starting.”

“They’ll come after you next, though,” Alex says.

“Humanity first, we can worry about that when it comes,” Pillow Central says.

“That’s pretty selfless,” Tulip says. “Not that I expect anything less from a pillow.”

“Thanks, I think that’s a compliment,” Pillow Central says.

“So what are you going to do?” Alex asks. “Yo can’t just walk into the White House.”

“We haven’t figured that part out yet,” Alice says. “But we have something to investigate before we head there anyway. Remember?”

“I remember,” Pillow Central says. “A woman I met had a corpse of a alien in her fridge,” he explains, “and sent off prices of broken alien teach to her engineer friends. We need to secure that tech before it reaches any other human hands.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Tulip says, “we humans love our toys, and we’ll take them from anybody. Reverse engineering.”

“Exactly,” says Alice. “Your kind really does like to make death weapons. It’s quite harrowing, actually.”

“We’re trying to fix that,” Tulip says. “Normal people, I mean, not the government, not where it matters.” 

“You sound like the Owner when they talk about climate change,” says Espeon.

“Oh god, don’t get me started,” Tulip says.

“Anything we can do to help?” Alex asks; the bleeding is finally stopping, and they don’t hold anything to their face anymore.

“I’m not sure,” Pillow Central says. “I don’t want to leave you alone though- I feel like that Elder might... I don’t know, come back, try to hurt you.”

“What was that thing you did when it tried to attack us anyway?” Davey asks. “It was green, and it broke a wall.” He blanches. “Shit, well have to pay for that.”

“Put it on our tab; that goes for food too,” Espeon says as the waitress returns with pancakes, eggs, and bacon for the humans.

“Espeon,” chides Alice, but Pillow Central cuts her off. “No, she’s right, we can pay for it.”

“Damn, stuffed animals be loaded,” Tulip says.

“Awakening provides,” says Alice.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Davey says.

“Weren’t you listening when the alien was yapping?” Espeon asks. “It’s called psionics, or the gift, or space magic, and it’s fucking cool. I have it now too, because duh. I am a psychic Pokémon and I deserve it.” 

“I still can’t figure out how you managed to survive that,” Alice says. “You should have been destroyed.”

“As if I’d let a Elder of all things kill me,” Espeon says with a huff. “Like everything else inexplicable, it was probably Awakening- at least some part. The rest was my raw power.”

“Are you doing winter classes? You could come with us,” Pillow Central asks. “I mean, us with you, since our car... kinda... got in a accident.”

Tulip nods. “I’m free,” she says. “Davey? Alex?”

“I have a online class, but if you let me swing by my apartment I can grab my laptop and I can work from there,” Alex says. They give Pillow Central a quirked eyebrow. “How do you kind of get into a crash?”

“Look I’ve only been driving for one day, and a bunch of things happened, it wasn’t my fault,” he says.

“That’s two outta three,” Espeon says, interrupting them. She looks at Davey expectantly; he shifts under her embroidered gaze.

“I was hoping to get more hours at work, but if you really think this Elder thing is a threat, and you want me as a witness, I guess I can come,” he says. “It’s my car anyway.”

“Sick,” Espeon says, “we have a adventuring party.”

“Espeon, this is not a game,” Alice says.

“Yes it is and I’m winning.”

Pillow Central flags down the waitress for the bill, pays, and the group heads back to the house for the night. The humans fall asleep quickly enough, but Pillow Central lies awake, staring at the dark ceiling.

Alice, perched on his backpack nearby, speaks softly. “You are concerned?”

“They’re only human,” he says. “How can I protect them?”

“Fuck them, they can protect themselves,” Espeon says from the crook of his arm. “Only human we’re beholden to is the Owner.”

“And how do we protect them when we’re so far away?” he asks.

“The hoard will make sure they are safe,” Alice says. 

Pillow Central wishes he could agree. Wishes his loyalty was not locked by magic and mother duck imprinting (not to say he hates the Owner, and wants them harmed; only that the convention of protection of the first is limiting).

Wishes and wishes and wishes.

But wishes aren’t action, he thinks, and action is what he does, and what he will do. 

(He likes to think it would make the Owner proud.)


	11. Chapter Eleven

In the early morning he shoots off texts to Hazel’s engineer friends, explaining who he is and what he’s looking for. He hopes he’s not too late, that the FBI is still one step behind him, that he can get so lucky.

He gets answers from one almost immediately; his name is Bigley, he lives in Pittsburgh, and he’s happy to show Pillow Central what he’s found as long as it’s kept on the down low. That alone makes him nervous, makes him almost certain that the materials are unearthly, but he has to see them. He knows what it looks like, he has to see.

The other engineer does not answer until much later in the day, when Pillow Central and the humans are waiting around Alex’s apartment for the latter to finish packing. They’ve swung by Tulip’s and Davey’s, and are now scattered about the small impeccable living room. 

Tulip sits on the floor and plays with Espeon, the Pokémon batting a bottle cap back at her gentle throws. Davey browses his phone while seated on the sleek couch, his brow furrowed- all of the humans had woken complaining of headaches, and Alex had begun the morning with another nosebleed, which Alice believes to be part of exposure to the Elder. 

The latter, in Pillow Central’s hand, nods as she hears rustling in the other room. 

“I like this house,” she says. “Very clean, well kept.”

Pillow Central’s phone buzzes again. The second engineer, who goes by ‘Lizard’, has texted him their address. He saves it to his notes app and texts back a thank you and a ‘I’ll let you know when we’re in town’. 

Alex emerges from the bedroom, lugging a duffel bag with one hand, and blotting their nose with a tissue with the other. “Ok,” they say, “I’m ready.” 

“Any better?” asks Alice. 

“Not really,” Alex says, sniffling. “My head hurts.”

“All our heads hurt, bud,” Tulip says as she gets up. “I’ve got ibuprofen in the car, you can have some.” 

They head down to the car and settle in- Davey driving, Tulip in the passenger seat, Alex and Pillow Central in back. Their bags are at their feet, with the rest of the luggage in the trunk. Alice and Espeon sit nestled in Pillow Central’s coat pocket.

Pillow Central gives him Lizard’s address, and the drive begins. 

As they leave El Paso, Espeon jumps to the window to gaze outside, and even Alice turns her head to view the rolling hills. The humans play the radio and talk amongst themselves; otherwise they play on handheld game consoles and mess with their phones. 

Pillow Central occupies himself with browsing the Internet for any sign of alien activity— he’s seeing things more and more now, reports cast off as drunkenness, children disappearing, and they ache because they make the memories flare. 

Fuzzy as they are, he still remembers— the abductions, the attempts to cover up things until it was too much to cover up, the quick fall to alien rule, the protests and the backlash. None of it may be real, and most may not come to pass, but it sure is helpful in picking through the mainstream news.

He absently wonders if the Owner’s parents will notice his line is connected to their phone payments. Probably not, they still think that the Owner has a tablet on the same plan, when that tablet went missing years ago. 

They manage to make it out of Texas before something goes wrong.

There’s a loud thunking noise late in the afternoon, rhythmic for a while until Davey moves to the side sharply, which startles him (and seemingly everyone else; Tulip jerks her head, Alex drops their 3DS) to look toward The front as the cat parks on the side of the road. Davey is getting out of the car, bending down to tire level. He gets back up and shakes his head. 

“Flat tire,” he says. “Anyone got car insurance?”

“Do we look like we have money?” Tulip says.

“Well, I know stuffed gang has some but I don’t suppose they’ve got AAA, do they?” Davey answers, giving Pillow Central a flower over the seatrest.

“Hey fuck you we don’t have a car anymore!” Espeon says.

“Well that’s your problem,” he says, as Alex asks, “seriously what happen to yall’s car?”

“Well,” says Alice, “being rude to each other isn’t going to fix this. The humans will need to sleep soon; can anyone find a nearby hotel?”

“There’s a Holiday Inn nearby,” says Tulip, leaning towards them from her seat. “We’re about 15 minutes away walking. I’ll find AAA’s number and call them too.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Pillow Central says, and Tulip smiles at him.

Davey gets back in the car, still giving Pillow Central a dark look. Alex is opening a new packet of tissues, blood under their nails.

“Please don’t get blood on my seats,” Davey says. “I mean, it’s ok if you do, it’ll just be hard to get out so try not to.”

Alex rolls their eyes and mouths ‘get a load of this guy’ at the stuffed animals. Espeon snorts, Alice and Pillow Central hush her. 

Tulip is wrapping up on the phone, and turns to the rest of the car with a grin. “They’re on the way with a replacement tire,” she says. “Davey, you stay with the car and text us when you’re back on the road; the rest of us will walk to the hotel and then we’ll come out and get our stuff when you get here. Sound good?”

The sun is low in the sky now, casting long shadows across the small town. Pillow Central carries his friends in his hands and tails Alex, who follows Tulip. When they reach the hotel, Tulip and Pillow Central go to counter to get rooms; Alex scurries into the bathroom. 

By the time they’ve gotten keys and messaged Davey the room number (he and Pillow Central are together; Alex and Tulip in the room next to them), Alex has returned, holding a new handful of tissues to their nose. 

The rooms are pretty standard; small sitting area, sink and bathroom, bed, a desk, a window looking out into the parking lot. Pillow Central sees Davey’s car pull in, and follows the humans back down and out to meet him.

The parking lot and hotel is next to a vacant lot, covered in underbrush and strewn with trash. Pillow Central stares out at it, watching the tall grasses in the wind.

Something rustles unnaturally; Espeon, in Tulip’s hands, perks up. “Hey, hey,” she says, and her gem glows. “Hey, there’s something in there.”

“I don’t see why you need psychic powers to determine what your ears can interpret just fine,” Alice says.

“Ssh,” says Espeon, “it doesn’t feel... right. It feels... it feels like... I don’t know, but I don’t—“ 

There’s a sound that Pillow Central knows like his own hands, the warming of a plasma coil, and he’s jumping at Tulip, yelling at the others to hit the asphalt as two plasma bolts sizzle through the air. 

“What the fuck was that?” yells Davey, who’s in between cars.

Tulip, from the ground, yells back. “I don’t know, but shortstack sure is freaked about it!” 

Espeon has ditched her and run back to Pillow Central, narrowly dodging two more plasma bolts aimed at her. She jumps into his waiting hands. “Did you see that?” she says, breathlessly.

“Yeah, I did,” he says, ducking against the hotel front, peering around back at the grasses. 

Alex remains motionless in the parking lot, a deer in headlights look. Tulip hisses at her to move from her position on the ground. 

There’s the sound of the plasma coil warming again-

Pillow Central sets Espeon and Alice on the front walk at his feet, and conjures up a balm of Psionic energy. It fizzles the first time, but stays the second, and after a moment he throws it at the long grass. 

There’s a screech, and a sectoid comes skittering out of the brush, reeling from the impact. Espeon takes the moment to spring off a Psybeam, and the sectoid collapses, weapon’s internal mechanisms audibly shattering as it hits the ground. 

“What is that?” asks Tulip while she stands, as Davey tries to calm a shock stilled Alex into moving again. 

Pillow Central gingerly makes his way across the asphalt, pausing every so often, until he’s at the corpse. He unzips his bag, shoves the new body on top of the old, and puts the weapon fragments inside as well. He can compare them with what the engineers have. 

He zips is the back and comes back to the group, flinching as Espeon climbs him all the way to his shoulder. 

“What did you think? Rookie lucky, or am I just better then a xcom solider?” she asks.

“What was that?” Davey asks, but before he can answer, Alex does: “It’s a alien. I’ve seen one before.”

“What?” says Pillow Central.

“During my summer hiking trip senior year of high school,” they say, and their voice shakes. “We snuck out. It was dark. One of us spotted it, we chased it. It shot my friend. Killed him. We had no idea what happened, and they ruled it a suicide even though they had no idea how he got a burn wound that entered and exited like a gunshot.” 

“Oh,” says Alice.

“Shit,” says Pillow Central. “They’ve had forces on the ground for that long?” 

Alex looks at him, and he sees them square their shoulders. “I remember the original X-COM was a game about fighting aliens,” she says. “One of the aliens types looked like that. Even those little guys were really strong. I never won a game.” 

“Let’s take this inside,” says Davey, and his voice is tremulous. 

“Okay,” says Alex. Alice pushes against Pillow Central’s arm, and he gently hands her to them; she begins to whisper, quiet things he recognizes, and by the time they’ve gathered everything from the car and reached the rooms Alex’s face has some color back in it. They’re all gathered in Tulip and Alex’s Room, the humans nursing coffee the former makes in the shitty coffee maker. 

“So the aliens are here,” Davey says, sitting down on the small couch. 

“Apparently they’ve been here,” Pillow Central says as he sits in a chair at the tiny table in the sitting area, across from Davey . “That’s not good.”

“No,” says Alex, who stands next to Tulip as the latter makes another coffee, “that’s not good at all.” 

“What do we do, then?” asks Tulip, before she takes a swig of her drink. She frowns at it. “Bitter.

“Well,” Pillow Central says, “I have weapon fragments I can compare it whatever it is the engineers have, and then take those, the bodies, and the footage you three took to the White House when I present my case.” 

“I still don’t see how you’ll even get in,” Tulip says. “They’ll never believe you.”

“I would hope they didn’t,” Pillow Central says. “If enough happens between then and now that they did, I would be— it — that’s not a good thing, them believing me off the bat.”

“Do you really think a non dedicated task force can do this?” Davey asks. “I mean, you said XCOM was made for the job and they still failed.”

“To be fair,” Pillow Central says, and if he had hair and a neck it would standing up, bristling and defensive, “we were set up to fail; lack of resources, lack of funding, the world leaders turning alliances towards the invaders...”

“So it doesn’t bode too well for our forces either, huh?” Tulip finishes.

“No,” he says finally, “it doesn’t.”


	12. Chapter 12

When they reach Washington state, a day or so later of more crappy motels and wasting time away with internet browsing as Davey drives, PC gets the meet up text from Bigly and Lizard. 

It’s another side of the road hostel, with old peeling paint and a elderly counter clerk who hands Alex a tissue silently as blood gushes out their nose. A can rattles in the wind across the parking lot as the group walks to one of the rooms; Tulip gently knocks.

The door opens slightly; a large buff man with a thick beard peers from inside. “You are with Mr. Bradford, yes?’ he asks, and then nods as PC steps into view. “Come in, come in,” he says, opening the door and ushering them inside quickly as he can.

He locks the door behind them. Tulip and Alex stand near the radiator, the latter with the tissue from earlier now shoved up their nose. Bigly, the bearded man, gives them a sympathetic look as he walks over to a lanky form in a hoodie at the small desk in the corner of the room. 

The form unfurls, and reveals itself to be Lizard; blue eyes blink in the low light of the room, and after a round of introduction, Lizard gets up and pulls down a suitcase from the closet. He rummages inside for a moment, and brings out a shoebox; at the same time, Bigly has pulled a duffel bag from under a bad, and is holding a small postal box in his hands. PC twists the ends of the garbage bag he’s brought in in his hands. 

The college students lean over PC’s shoulder as the engineers open the boxes. Metal scrap, glimmering green crystal... if this is fake, it’s certainly convincing. PC takes a long breath. “So this is what was in the stuffed animals Hazel sent?”

Bigly and Lizard nod. 

“Can’t find anything like that crystal anywhere, and I took it to a rock store in town; guy there’s been working with rocks for decades, and he’d had no idea,” says the latter. 

“The metal isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen,” Bigly adds. “It’s like gun metal, but almost reinforced with steel. And there isn’t any bullet chamber, or firing mechanism, but considering the thing’s broken, I can’t even be sure it was a weapon,” he says. “I can’t even be sure these are all the pieces.”

“It’s the same green as the energy beams from that alien’s gun,” Alex says, and PC cringes. 

“The green is plasma,” he corrects. His eyes go back down to the crystals. “These crystals are probably what’s known as Elerium. Crystallized psionics, used as a power source and a conduit for their weapons.” 

He rummages through the garbage bag, pulls out a handful of the green crystals; they’re identical to the ones in the duffel bag and shoe box. 

“That’s your theory?” asks Bigly, and he’s frowning.

“We had a close encounter of the third kind,” Tulip says. “The stuff Bradford has came from the weapon it used.”

“We’re going to the White House,” PC says, “like I mentioned. I’d like to bring both your fragments and mine to show them.” 

Bigly hmmms. Lizard shakes their head, snatched up their box. “You didn’t see this from me,” they say as they put the box away back into their suitcase. “I don’t know you, you don’t know me.”

They glance at Bigly. “You know they’ll ruin you,” they say.

“If were in a fight with a weapon like this,” Bigly answers, “we need all the reverse work we can get.” 

“We can do that ourselves.”

“Not on a mass scale; and do you really want this reaching the military?”

Bigly pinches the bridge of his nose. “Take pictures of ours,” he says to PC, “and you can have my notes, but you can’t have the actual fragments. Bring yours for that.”

“Fine,” PC says, and dumps the crystals in his hand back into the garbage bag. He pulls his phone and snaps a few photos, sends them to the rest of the group as a just in case. Bigly puts away his box once the pictures are saved, chewing on his lower lip the whole time.

“How do you intend to get a audience?” asks Lizard from their seat at the small desk. 

“I’m not sure”, says PC, “but I’ll figure something out.” 

When they get back to the car, Espeon is jumping all over PC, sniffing at his pockets. “Where’s the stuff?” she asks. “I wanna see.”

“We only got pictures,” he says, handing Alice the phone, who holds it up for Espeon to swipe through. The Pokémon nods. 

“Yeah, that looks about right,” she says.

“So glad the expert could confirm,” Davey says with a huff as he slides into the driver’s seat.

“Hey! Have you played the remakes? No? Then shut up! You couldn’t tell a Covenant blaster from a plasma rail gun if your life depended on it!”

Alice drops the phone back into PC’s waiting hands, silently looking up at him. Alex, seated next to him, looks pensive as well. 

“What if the government don’t want to hear you out?” they ask. “Usually they don’t just take random audiences.”

“We could... stage something,” he says.

“Like what?” asks Tulip.

“Another alien attack, like back in Texas,” he suggests. “We’ve got two bodies, and Espeon can probably use psionics to hold one up...”

“Gross,” says Tulip.

“Maybe,” says Alex, furrowing their brow. 

“Well, think fast,” says Davey as he pulls out of the lot back into the road, “because we’re nearly there.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

They’re in the middle of unpacking at a hotel not even a few streets from the White House when Espeon shrieks.

PC, standing on the upper deck outside the room, throws himself down to the parking lot, landing face first, cuing yells from Alex as they stop flabbergasted in the doorway. 

He staggers to his feet and runs to the car, ignoring Alex’s call of concern. Espeon stands on his seat, lashing her tail in excitement. 

“What?” he asks as he picks her up, checks her over for damages. “What is it?” 

 

“Ok, ok,” Espeon says, and if it’s possible for embroidered eyes to shine, that’s happening now. “So you wanna get to the president right? Right? Ok. So turn yourself inside out, and one of the humans writes ‘property of Baron Trump’, and then brings you in on a public tour and puts you somewhere inconspicuous, and then the Secret Service will find out, see the tag, put you back in the kid’s room, and then you can go into the Oval Office and talk to the president!” 

“Beats the idea of ‘throw one of you over the fence and pray the person that brings you back is nice enough to listen’,” he says. 

“Sweet, alright, lets go get that tag written,” Espeon says, wriggling out of PC’s hands to clamber up onto his shoulders. Alice sighs as he picks her up.

“Can you tuck my phone inside ... uh... me? When the time comes?” he asks her, and she nods.

“I pray this works,” she says, and quiets as he crosses the doorway into the motel room. Davey is downstairs in the main lobby paying, and Tulip is accompanying him; the only human here is Alex, who’s sitting on one of the beds messing with their phone next to their bag. 

“Hey, Alex,” he greets, sitting on the other bed opposite them. He sets Alice down among the pillows; Espeon runs down from his shoulders and sits down next to him, body quivering as she shoots PC excited glances. 

Alex looks up, smiles. “Hey,” they say. “Any ideas on how to get into the White House? I mean, talking wise- apparently there’s a public tour of the eastern wing. But you want the government.”

“Espeon actually had a idea,” he says.

“Oh?”

He takes off his jacket and slides off the pants, astral legs congealing into one pillowly end as he hops out of the waist. 

Alex blinks. “Wow,” they say. 

“Not very impressive under all the clothing, I’ll admit,” he says.

“The arms just... go,” they say. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean they’re still here—“ He picks up Espeon, waves her around for a moment despite her indignant flailing “— you just don’t see them.” 

“Does this have to do with your idea?” they ask.

“Yeah, so Espeon thinks if we turn me inside out and write out that I’m property of the president’s kid, and then leave me somewhere in the White House, the Secret Service will return me to the kid’s room, and from there I can get a audience directly with the president,” he says. He hands them his phone, and then removes the ribbon that’s tied around where his neck should be, and hands that to them as well. “I need you to put these, uh, inside me as well,” he says. “The phone’s got all the pictures and the videos.” 

“Doesn’t that hurt?” they ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, “I’ve never done it before.” 

“It’s not going to kill you to take you off your pillow, is it?” 

“No,” says Alice, before he can speak. “His consciousness is tied to both aspects, but mostly to the case; that would need to be destroyed for it to be harmful.”

“Ok,” Alex says, stepping over to him; they pause for a moment to tie his ribbon around Espeon’s neck, and then reaches for him. PC drops limp into their hands, feels them gently shake him off of his base. It’s a strange feeling, being flipped; his vision goes white, and he blinks a few times- it does not clear, and he realizes it’s because he’s looking at the inside other panel of his case. 

There’s a thunk, and then a gentle push, and the pillow is now in his face. He wiggles a little to let it settle, and then stands upright. He feels something heavy in the floor end of the pillow; the phone, he realizes, and hopes it won’t clunk too much. 

“Tag’s here,” he says, dipping the far end of the pillow at Alex, who’s rummaging in their bag for a pen. He feels them take the tag in their left hand, and scribble with the right.

“I hope this works,” they say.

“Me too,” he answers. A pause. “Hey, Alice?”

“Mm?”

“This doesn’t mean I’m beholden to the president’s kid now, does it?”

He imagines she shakes her head when she speaks again: “No, the bond does not break that easy.”

“Ok,” he says. “Just- just wondering.”

Alex tucks his clothes into him, flat as they can get against the pillow, and lies him against the wall that their bed is against, and to his relief, places Espeon and Alice near where his head is. He can hear Espeon coloring in her book, feel Alice’s gentle paw on him. 

When Davey and Tulip get back, Alex explains what’s going on, and after a brief discussion of what to do with the Sectoid bodies (the verdict is they’ll stay here but be given up to the government once PC’s had his talk), the humans head out for a late dinner. 

PC presses astral hands against the pillow, for a moment feels wildly disproportioned. Then he settles. He can deal with this. He can deal with this. Humanity’s at stake, he can handle being inside out for a day or so. 

For humanity. For the Owner. For the Hoard.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Considering the fact he’s mostly blinded now, PC isn’t sure what’s happening the majority of the next morning. 

He knows the sounds of human preparation, and the trio go through them - showering, teeth brushing, hair brushing- and Alex tells him as they pick him up that they’re taking him to the car, and he knows the feeling of a car’s rumbling movements, but he cannot see the city, and some curious part of him resents that. 

He can hear the humans talking, discussing what the plan is - for now, it’s go on the public tour, gently leave PC somewhere, and hope for the best. PC himself is feverently begging the magic of Awakening for help, for it to make human eyes slide over his form as they bring him in with them, for it to make him invisible. 

The rumble motion of the car stops, PC feels Alex pick him up about the mid, which is how the Owner usually carries him when they’re not being terribly conscious, and for a while his body swings slightly to the rhythm of the human’s walk. 

Suddenly the hands about him tighten, and he senses nervousness in the grip— 

and then they ease again, and there is the sound of many people around them, and talking, and the click of picture taking. This goes on for a while, and PC is almost lulled to unconsciousness until he feels himself be uprighted, and gently placed. 

All he can do now, he suppose, is wait. 

This is easy; he’s done it before at the Owner’s. It’s a little harder though alone, and misses Alice and Espeon, and Kitty, and the Smalls. So he spends the time in his head, crafting a letter back home. 

He’s jerked from his reverie by hands- rougher, fast, slender fingers. The human attached walks briskly, and there is a crackle in the air followed by a tinny voice. It seems the plan has worked, he thinks. 

The human carries him a bit longer, and then there is the sound of a door opening, and he is placed on something soft, and the door closes again. 

He lies still on the soft thing for a while, holding a breath he doesn’t need to hold, and then sits upright where he tightly coils the pillow before springing off of it— he sends himself fluttering down off the bed, twisting and turning in the air as he attempts to turn himself right side out, and once he’s accomplished this he picks himself up from the carpeted floor. 

He looks around curiously. It’s decorated to be a little boy’s room, with toy bins and a closet and brightly colored bedding. A teddy bear sits among the cushions, and as PC struggles to slide himself back into the pillow, the bear turns its head just so. 

“You’re not one of his,” it says, voice croaky. 

“No,” says PC, voice like gritted teeth as he wriggles the pillow into place. He stands up from the bed, picks up the clothing and phone from where it fell out of him. “I’m sorry, I should have expected someone to notice. I’m not here to harm.” He starts to dress, quickly now, sliding the phone into his hoodie pocket once it’s on. 

“There’s no one to harm,” the bear says. “He’s at school. Unless you mean us?” As it speaks, PC’s gaze flicks about the room, and he sees more stuffed animals peeking from behind corners and out of the bookshelf. 

“No, no, sorry, that was... my name is Pillow Central,” he says. 

“Understandable,” the bear says. “I am Teddy.” 

“I would say that’s uncreative but my Owner named one of us Kitty so...” 

Teddy’s stitched frown turns itself upward. “What are you doing here? Your Owner must miss you. Unless you are trying to escape them?”

“There’s something very bad,” PC says. “It threatens the world. It threatens humanity. I’m here to tell the president about it, because otherwise no one will know, and things will... if no one does anything, it will be very bad.”

Teddy comes to the edge of the bed, looks up at PC. “You appear sincere,” he says. He gazes jumps to the arms PC has at his sides. “I have never seen limbs such as yours. Awakening has sensed your urgency. For it is urgent, no?”

“Very,” PC says. “Is the president... here?”

“He should be,” says a ratty bunny plush up on the bookshelf’s top. “We haven’t heard of any meeting for today.”

“And if not, you are welcome to stay as long as you need to meet with him,” Teddy says. 

“Thank you,” PC says. “Seriously, thank you.” 

“The halls are empty now,” Teddy says. “Let me walk you to the Oval Office.”

“Just one moment-“

He opens his phone to the group chat Espeon set up with the college students, and types im in.

Answers almost immediately from Alex:   
congrats! talk w/ pres yet?

no. soon.

good luck!!! she sends back. save the world!!! you can do it!

He puts the phone away. “Lead on.”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Teddy leads him down the halls, until they are standing outside a closed door. The bear looks up at him, little paws crossed over each other. 

“Good luck,” he says, and scampers off back down to his Owner’s room. 

PC hesitates, rubs his fingers against the phone. He can hearing talking inside the room, muffled to the point where he can’t decipher it, but loud enough that he knows someone’s there. 

His hand is shaking when he knocks. 

The dark suited man that opens the door immediately goes to tackle PC, who ducks out of the way, yelling “I need to inform the president! Something bad is coming, and they need to know!” 

The president, for what it’s worth, turns from his phone call and stares at PC silently. PC scrambles for his phone, dodging another tackle from the dark suited man, and plunks the device on the president’s desk.

“And what is this?” asks the president.

“Sir,” says PC, because some of his knowledge of human manners and some of his memories are kicking in, “Mr. President, sir, there are- I know it sounds like bullshit but there are videos and I have bodies that my friends are prepped to give you—“

The dark suited man manages to ram him now, knocking him to the floor. He hears the man on top of his exclaim something, probably about how soft PC is; he doesn’t stick around to hear it, wriggling his way out of the arms and back into his feet. The man in the dark suit yanks a walkie talkie from his belt.

PC stands panting slightly. “Look,” he says, “all I’m asking is like, two minutes. Just two. Just give me a chance here.”

The president frowns. The man in the suit has finished his call on the walkie talkie and comes at him again, is about to make impact, when the former speaks: “Let him be.”

“But sir—“

“I want to hear.”

PC thanks him profusely, before launching into his explanations- XCOM this, Elders that, and plays the videos for him. He shows the man the pictures, explains the engineers’ concerns, promises to somehow get the fragments to the government anyway. The president does not speak much this whole time, only nods here and there. 

When he’s done, slightly out of breath and shaking, PC awaits a response. After a few moments president reaches over and gently picks up the phone. “I will be keeping this,” he says.

“Of course,” says PC. “And answering the threat—“

“I will be making calls, yes,” the president says. “We are very strong, the strongest, and we have very good allies. The best allies. We thank you for bringing this to our attention. We’ll be doing our best to solve the issue. It will be solved.”

He pauses. “What did you say your name was, again?”

“Bradford, sir. John Bradford.”

“Yes, Mr. Bradford, thank you. Please excuse yourself now, there’s much to be done.”

And with that, two more men in dark suits appear in the hallway, grab PC by the arms, and pull him away.

He struggles, and in the struggle as the men try to orient their grasp on him his hat and scarf fall off- panic floods his senses at the possibility of being uncovered, and something in his stomach kicks, something in his stomach rises, rises, and the men suddenly drop him, scrambling backward, and he falls flat on his face ; the president is staring at something above him, and PC flips himself over, follows their gazes and pointing—

A soft green light hangs above him, spinning off into tendrils of arm and finger from a central human line body body. It bears no human face, rather something jellyfish like, and PC knows what this, he’s played the Buearu.

“Asaru?” he asks, warily, because this is not the right color for the Ethereal from the game. It does not answer. He tries again. “Shamash?”

“Elyion,” says a voice, echoy and melodic.

“What is that?” asks one of the suited men. 

“It’s a Ethereal,” PC says. “Like the Elders.”

“And what the hell is a Elder-“ begins the other, only to be hushed by his companion. They both stare up at Elyion, guns half drawn. 

“It’s not dangerous,” says PC. “It ... shouldn’t be. Not if it’s bonded to... me. It’s bonded to me. Shit.”

So that’s what that was, back at the crash.

The Ethereal nods. “Your collision allowed me freedom from my captors,” it says. It looks toward the men in the suits, and for a moment, glimmers red. “They wore clothing like these humans do.”

“Don’t worry,” PC says, “they won’t hurt you.” He pauses. “They shouldn’t; they’re secret service, they’re for the president.”

“Will the ... President hurt us?” 

“No,” says PC, and looks back through the doorway; the president is standing at his desk, watching- when PC meets his eyes, a feeling of dread erupts in his stomach.

“What is it?” calls the president to his service aids.

The two men falter, look at PC. 

“It’s, uh, well, a alien,” says PC. “A psionic one with no corporal form, but still a alien.”

“Like these Elders you discussed,” says the president.

“Yeah, but this one isn’t with them. I think it’s probably Earth’s seeded Ethereal,” PC says.

Elyion nods again. “I was born into this planet; its depths my nursery, until I was awakened by some of your...” He feels the alien struggling for the word, gets a image of humans in mining hats. 

“Miners,” he offers, and feels the other’s relief and thankfulness. 

“Your miners disturbed me, and then they brought in people like them-“ it points at the secret service men. “And those men forced me into a box, asked me questions and did all manner of things I now understand as cruel...”

“But not all humans are like that,” PC sys, and its half a plea. “They’re probably were just curious.”

“I understand not all behave that way,” says Elyion. “Your ... Owner does not do that. You care deeply for them. And there are others like you, so there must be others like them. And you care for the humans you have been traveling with.”

PC nods encouragingly. Elyion looks toward the president, and glimmers red again.

“I do not trust this one,” it says. “I sense a shift in preoccupation.”

It looks down at PC. “We should go.”

“You won’t be doing that,” says the president; the two men jump forward, and this time he cannot slip away unless he sheds his clothes, and so he does, squirming out as a rectangular shape.

The two men are shocked still for a moment, which gives PC time to begin to hop down the corridor as fast as a pillow can, only to have the men spurred back into action as the president yells “Don’t let it escape!”

PC feels a ripple in his stuffing, as Elyion settles back in, and finds that he can hop a little faster. He turns the corner into a closed doorway, and whaps himself against the doors to force them open open, landing face first into the White House lobby, amidst a gaggle of tourists, lobbyists, and camera touting journalists; they swarm him, taking photos, asking questions— 

PC struggles up, weaving and bobbing through the small crowd until he’s stumbling down the steps, still being dogged by a few reporters, who he yells “go bother the black suits” at.

They do turn from him and begin to pester the two men that come barreling down the stairs after him, but not enough to stop them. The men jump on him again, and despite his struggling, they’ve got a good grasp on him now.

He feels Elyion’s fear compound into his, and instinctively thrashes against the grip of the men, but it’s not much use. The taller man has a larger chunk of PC in his hands, at where the pillow ends but the former doesn’t quite, and PC curses the lack of a better fitting base. He’s swinging upside down in the man’s grip now, and moments is tossed roughly into the trunk of a car.

PC sits up, top brushing the roof of the trunk. It’s dark, and he blinks in the black, thoughts blazing in an attempt to remember everything he ever read about being kidnapped. 

There is an ache, a terrible pain, and then his astral arms are back, and PC hesitantly holds his hands in a position associated with a energy ball. He’s seen the Owner do this before, and as much as he doesn’t quite understand their witchcraft and magic and whatever else, the concept must be similar. Besides, he managed to shoot off a attack back at the hotel parking lot... 

“C’mon,” he murmurs, waiting for a spark, a glimmer, anything-

There is a crackle of green about his fingers, and a small ball of psionic energy hums in the space between, but fizzles our moments later. He can’t focus. He can’t, there’s phantom heartbeat in hell’s ears and—

PC shakes his head, and punches at the corner of the trunk instead, where a taillight should be- his hand lights up with tendrils of energy as he does and smashes through; he waves frantically. 

“You did something back when we first met,” he says out loud to the Ethereal. “Do it again. Get us out of here!”

A sense of exhaustion foreign to his being answers, and PC understands and relents in arguing that option, as much as it irritates him. 

He mentally curls in on himself, toward the core of his being, a self hot with the spark of Awakening. He prods at it, tries to nudge it into doing something, anything—

A copycat of Alice’s voice in his head, then, emitting from his center: “I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

PC backs away, mumbling internal apologies, back to reality. 

There has to be something he can do. There has to. There has to. 

But as he feels the vehicle’s gears shift, as he feels it turn, as he feels it eat up ever more ground on the way to god knows where, there appears to be nothing else he can do. 

So PC sits, and he waits.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

When the trunk is opened, the sun is high in the sky, and PC has to blink a few times to get the spots out his eyes, to see the figures that reach gingerly toward him. He frantically wills his astral limbs to invisibility, and to his relief, they fade before the light reveals them. 

Elyion takes his speech and uses it to hiss as the white coat picks him up, but this only makes the scientist look excitedly at their companions, makes them say something about a color change, about a flicker of green.

PC is about to speak when he changed hands and is dropped rather roughly, head first, into a bag. It’s clear, so he can see out, and watches as the scientists talk to each other- something about containment, something about contamination. 

He’s carried across the vacant lot the vehicle was parked into a large non-distinct concrete building, whose white halls and uniform doors confuse his senses until he loses track of the rights and lefts and centers. 

PC is brought into a room that has a smaller sectioned area, behind glass; one of the scientists brings him into this area, opens the bag, and hurries back out again, and PC hears the click of a lock. 

The scientists sit at a table in front of the glass panel, and with a soft buzz, a intercom comes on. PC glances about the perimeter of the ceiling as he wriggles out of the bag and notes a camera. 

A woman comes in briefly, handing the others paper and pencils, saying words that he cannot read from her lips. She gives him a look and her eyes are wide, and he is able to understand she is afraid.

They’re all afraid, he realizes. 

Of him? Or Elyion? Maybe both. 

Something in him squares its metaphorical shoulders. It can take advantage of that, he can take advantage of that. 

There is a tap on a microphone, which makes the intercom buzz a harsh noise. If PC could wrinkle his nose, he would, but he can’t, so he settles for backing himself upright in a corner. 

“Is this on?” asks one of the scientists. Young, messy red hair, freckles, brown eyes. One of his companions pushes him aside, leans toward the mic sounds board- this one is tall, short black hair, hazel eyes, a small burn scar on her right cheek. She presses a button, and the camera in the corner blinks on a red light.

“Alien specimen observation session one,” she says, and he hears her deliberate speech, like how the Owner would do when practicing for a performance- Elyion hisses again, and he shakes his head at it.

Easy, he says internally. We’ll get further if we don’t antagonize them. 

I want to antagonize them! Its voice is a child. Their kind hurt me!

I know, I know, just work with me here.

“Remarkable,” says the third and last scientist -sandy long hair, blue eyes- as they scribble on a notepad. “Is it causing the pillow to be able to emote through the ink print image?”

“The pillow isn’t the sentient one, it just seems to be,” says the redhead, and PC feels relief flood him, as the scientist goes on to explain his theory that ‘the alien’ is unable to exist on its own, which isn’t wrong, but PC isn’t telling them that, not now. 

They think it’s just Elyion. They don’t know. They haven’t figured it out.

Elyion snaps internally at him, at his relived state, although the emotions feel more childish then truly angry; aren’t we a team, it asks, this is still bad!

Not as bad as it could be, he answers. Just...let me talk. I’ll get us out of here.

PC makes a noise like he’s clearing his throat, kicks his brain’s scream of WE DONT HAVE A THROAT WHY DID WE DO THAT WE ARENT EVEN REAL to the side, and speaks: “I’m invoking the fifth amendment.”

He hopes that’s the right one. He never did get into studying the Owner’s books like some of the others.

“You know american law?” asks the redhead.

“Focus,” says the black haired woman. To PC, she says: “What is your intent to the human population of the planet?” 

PC crosses his arms, arches an eyebrow, and remains quiet. 

The woman pauses. “You’re not a person,” she says after a moment, “you can’t invoke Miranda rights.”

“Can’t it?” asks the redhead. “I mean, if it knows American law, can it be classified as a American citizen?”

“James, we don’t have time for your philosophy questions,” the black haired woman says. “And for the record, knowing something doesn’t make you something.”

“It’s a interesting question, though, isn’t it, Marth?” says the sandy haired scientist. “We really are on the brink of such ethical—“

“Both of you, stop it, or I’ll call for somebody else to oversee this with,” Marth says. 

The two men exchange looks, and then look at PC, who stares back confused until he realizes they’re looking at him for agreement in their silent irritation. He shrugs at them. 

Marth meets PC’s gaze, level and steady. “Maybe my initial question is too off putting,” she says. “Let’s try again, something simple. What would you describe yourself to be? As in, what do you call your species?” 

“Target brand generic body pillow,” PC says.

James snorts; Marth glowers at him. “Not your...hosting body,” she says to PC, “but you.”

“Uh, custom made dakimarkura case,” he says. 

“Again, not your hosting-“

“What’s a dakimarkura?” asks the sandy haired one. 

PC gestures at himself. “Japanese body pillow, so basically what I already told you,” he says. “Usually they have anime characters on them.”

You’re something special, hums his core, in Kitty’s voice, and he mumbles it to himself. 

“Speak up,” says Marth. “Make this easy, we’ll help each other.”

I don’t want to help them, hisses Elyion in PC’s mind.

Don’t worry, they’re not getting anything actually useful here.

“I said,” PC says, “I’m something special.”

“How so?” asks James, before Marth can speak.

“Well, I was custom ordered,” he says. 

Marth jumps in, cutting off sandy haired scientist: “And, I’ll indulge you for a moment, who ordered you?” 

Oh, he’s not putting the Owner in danger; everything in him glows hot and red and furious at the thought. 

“A cat walked across a keyboard and just so happened to enter the digits of a random credit card number and a random address. A month later, there I was.”

Marth frowns. “I’m being nice, so don’t bullshit me,” she says. 

PC sighs, goes for a vague truth in answer. “If I tell you, you’ll go after them, and they really don’t need that on top of everything else right now.”

“Fine,” Marth says. “We’ll drop it for now.”

Sandy haired scientist is staring at PC hard. “I know you,” he says. “I mean, I’ve seen your image around somewhere.”

“Ever play XCOM 2?” asks PC. 

James’ eyes light up. “I played the X-COM demo as a kid all the time on my dad’s work computer,” he says. “Never did get around to checking out that 2012 remake though...are you from that one?”

“The sequel to that, actually, but close enough,” PC says. He narrows his eyes at them. “Hey, you’re doing this for the government right?”

“We can’t confirm or deny that,” Marth says.

“Then maybe telling you about what’s coming will get things done, since I think the president is... not focusing right,” he says, the last part a mumble.

“On what?” asks James, and PC launches into his spiel. 

He tells them everything, save anything about Bureau, which pleases Elyion. When he’s done, the scientists are giving each other looks that mingle fear with wonder. 

Jake asks for the kid’s’ phone number so they can meet up and get the Sectoid corpses for study, and after a brief hesitation, PC tells him it, half begging not to drag them into this; Marth assures him they’ll be left alone, but he doesn’t believe her, not for a second.

Jake leaves the room to make the call. Marth and the sandy haired scientist remain at the mic table. 

“So,” says the former, “are you done pretending to be the pillow?”

“Nah,” says PC. “Also, make sure it’s ‘pretending to be the pillow case’ in your notes, because that’s the actual fact.” 

“You’re a little bastard, aren’t you?” Marth says.

“My more foul mouthed friends might agree with you, sure,” he answers. 

She fumes silently; the sandy haired scientist leans over to the mic. “Can you, uh, walk the length of the room for me?” he asks. “I want to see how you move.”

“Okay,” PC says, and complies, shuffling across the tiles. Sandy haired scientist returns to scribbling in his notes, looking up at PC every so often.

Marth takes a deep breath, is about to speak, when Jake returns. 

“We’ve got a team on the way to get the bodies now,” he says. He looks over at PC. “Also, he broke one of the Service cars taillights; drivers are bugging me to make our department pay for it...”

Marth stares at him. “How the hell—“

“I don’t know, Martha, maybe he suffocated it out, I don’t know.” He pauses in his sudden burst. “We’ll find out though. We’re scientists, after all.”

“How about I show you instead?” PC says, and wills his astral arms into being. They appear, and sandy haired scientist yelps, hurriedly making even more notes. 

“What the hell—“

PC clenches his fist, and then releases, and Psionic energy jumps between his fingers. The three stare at his hand. 

“And you call this what, again?” asks Jake, somewhat breathlessly.

“Psionics,” says PC.

“And the limbs?”

He does not answer. They do not seek to notice. 

“That’s not possible,” says Marth. “That’s something out of a sci fi book.”

“What’s coming to Earth is literally already in one of your video games but it’s pretty damn real,” PC counters. 

“You said it’s something that humans can do,” says the sandy haired scientists. “That it’s innate, but that it can also be induced, and that alone is incredible, but then there’s you, in a nonhuman host but still able to do it—“

“Which proves it’s some kind of incorporeal alien,” Marth says. “Possibly... made of this energy?” She furrows her brow. “You are not some kind of defecting members of those ‘Elder’ brings you mentioned, are you?”

“No, no, the Elder’s are all really into their little dont-die-and-take-the-Earth cult, no traitors there,” PC says. 

“What makes you different?” Marth says, but it’s only half directed at him, so PC doesn’t answer.

She leans back in her chair. “I see we’re not going to get any further with you today,” she says. She stands up, and the two men follow her lead; she clicks something on the mic board again, and the low hum of the intercom fades out. The light next to the camera turns back to its soft white.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” she says, and leaves, sandy haired scientist on her heels. Jake lingers, fingers on the mic board. 

“Where did you get the ribbon?” he asks. PC gently touches the thin slip of fabric that’s tied about where his ink neck is. 

“It was a gift,” he says.

“You’re not really the alien, are you?” asks Jake.

“That’s for you to science out, isn’t it?” counters PC.

Jake frowns. “Yeah, I guess so.” He glances at the door. “Do you need anything? I think we can accommodate within reason. Just leaving you here seems...kind of cruel.” 

“That’s unusually sweet, coming from a government employee,” PC says.

“We’re not evil!” Jake says. Then he frowns again, deeper this time, but doesn’t say anything else, just switches the mic off and leaves them room.

You made him self conscious, says Elyion. Good.

Want to help me destroy that camera? PC asks. We need it gone if we want to try to get that door unlocked. 

Okay, says the Ethereal. How?

Psioncally shoot it, he answers, thinking the memory of the haunted house at the alien. That’s was what I was thinking anyway, but if you’ve got any other tricks... 

I can try.

The ethereal lifts his arm, snaps the fingers- psionic energy flickers to life about them. It gathers the energy into a ball held between the palms (warm, slightly painful) and then reabsorbs it back into the hand as it steps back, striking out toward the camera. 

It does this whole process a few more times, with no success at the end. PC frowns.

What are we missing?

Maybe you have to do it too?

Worth a shot.

He joins it in the movements, matching the snap and the pressing of the palms and then the strike out- 

A small flurry of green Psionic energy blast out from the palm, hitting the camera head on. It crackles, mixing electricity and psi, and then goes limp, servos death whining. PC grins. 

Good job!

I wonder if we could do it bigger? 

Let’s find out. 

PC shuffles over to the door, testing it like any human would- jiggle the handle, push against it, just to make sure. It does not move. 

He and Elyion strike out again, and the psionic burst goes through the door, making a hole. PC pushes the corner of himself into it, and for the next few minutes, squirms and wriggles and turns until finally, finally, all of him has squeeze through to flop against the other side’s floor. 

He stands up and shuffles across the room to the exterior door.

Can you do any other tricks? he asks Elyion. 

I can try the thing Asaru does, Elyion says. Maybe that will help us?

PC is about to ask what it means, when his consciousness jumps up alongside Eylion’s, and suddenly he is looking down at himself, at the hall and the room. There is a feeling of something expanding, and slowly other details fill in- other rooms, other halls, and faintly, PC feels himself grin.

Battle focus? he asks, half a question, half a confirmation. 

Battle focus! replies the Ethereal, sounding giddy. 

PC sweeps his gaze across the ‘map’, eyeing a exit door across the compound, and plans a route to it. There are a few double doors in the way, and he absently wonders if they’re locked to a keycard, but doesn’t worry— they can just psionically smash their way through if they need to. And if that fails, Awakening will provide.

At least he hopes so. 

“Let’s get outta here,” he says, and starts his way down the hall.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

As he makes his way through the facility, PC feels Elyion grow more and more agitated. This doesn’t dissipate when PC finds a key card loose on the floor as he ducks and shuffles past what he assumes is a security station (the officer on duty is fast asleep, thank God); in fact, the alien only grows more insistent. 

He’s not sure why, until it lights up a room in his vision as he turns down another hall. There’s a nagging in his head, and he frowns.

“We need to go,” he says, quiet.

There’s something there, it insists. Something hurting. Something Psionic. Please help it. You helped me.

PC takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, “but only if it can go fast.” He shuffles over to the door, and swipes the card- he hears the locks in the door open, and slides through the small space he can make by pushing. The door locks again behind him.

Elyion pushes he past dark storage boxes, to a 3 foot long canister. It’s marked as BIOLOGICAL and wrapped in caution tape, with more writing warning not to open it, as it’s federal property. PC snorts- because ‘you’re not a human you can’t invoke Miranda rights’ applies here, right?- and turns the canisters top. Air hisses as it comes off, freezing cold billowing out as smoke. 

PC hefts the canister off the shelf and holds it against his chest. He gazes inside. A dark goo sits a few inches down, but as he looks, it begins to ripple, and then a strand of it rises, rises. 

A voice emits from the canister: “You are not human.”

PC blinks. “You’re... not a stuffed animal,” he says, and frowns at it. 

The tendril of goo waves itself at him a little, eventually reaching out to touch him; he recoils, and it pulls away, going toward his arms; when it phases through, it cocks itself like a dog might cock its head. 

“What are you?” it asks.

“What are you?” he counter.

“Humankind calls me Spartan,” it says. “That is not my designation.” 

“My name is PC,” PC says. 

“But you are not human,” it says. “Are you captured too?”

“In a sense, yeah,” he says. “I’m hosting another alien, called a Ethereal—“

“I know the Ethereal race! One of them resides alongside a member of my kind in the Deep South, I hear it is very kind,” says the Spartan. “But it is not the rule. I hear the rest of the Ethereals, those called the Elders, are cruel and hasty...” It bobs again. “I would not know, that war was far before my time.”

“Your kind has fought the Elders?” PC asks. He hesitates. “No offense, but how?”

“We do not look as I do,” the Spartan says. “We are a race of exoskeletal beings. Our outer bodies are much like that of your humans in shape, and within them we can fight.“

“Did you lose your exoskeleton?” PC asks.

“The humans took me out of mine to study me,” it says. “I wish greatly to return to it.”

“Are you the only one of your kind to be here? I mean, on earth?”

“Yes! I was not supposed to be,” it says. “My ship crashed, in one of your oceans, and for a while I survived there. But I grew curious, and breached into human lands. I was quickly found, and like my ship, the humans took me to a initial ‘laboratory’ and then when they realized I was not of this planet, they sent me here.”

“Do you think your exoskeleton is here, too?” PC asks.

“I think so,” the Spartan says. “Please look around; it looks like human armor would, if that species had reached our point of technology yet.”

“So you’re more advanced,” says PC as he begins to walk, holding the canister out so the Spartan can look around. The tendril taps boxes it thinks might contain the exoskeleton, and Elyion lights them up in PC’s vision. 

“Yes,” the Spartan says as they reach the back of the room, “we are more advanced. But you, a not-human, seem to be as well. Your limbs—“

“—are more magic then science,” he interrupts.

The Spartan makes a ‘hmm’ noise at that. 

PC makes his way back to the first box marked, and cracks it open; he rummages through three more until he is back at the back of the room, sliding out a large box, lifting off the top after unlocking it—

The goo rushes out, and PC turns the canister over, watching in awe as the goo flows over the ‘armor’ pieces, and slowly, slowly, turns them over, brings them together, and then, all at once, there is a humanoid shape standing before PC, clenching and unclenching three finger pronged hands.

The Spartan looks at PC, cocking its head. “You are a rectangle,” it says. 

“Yeah, I’m a body pillow,” he says.

“Are those usually sentient?” it asks.

He shakes his head. When it doesn’t react, he adds, “No, no, I’m... special. But stuffed animals and others like me can be sentient. It’s, uh, a lot of secrets and magic and power of love.”

“Power of love?”

“Human concept,” PC says. 

“I know my kind has what they would call ‘love’, that does not confuse me,” it says.

“Oh,” says PC. “It’s still a human concept, that love can overcome anything, and similar.”

“I see,” it says. “A strange race, humanity is.” 

Yeah! says Elyion, materializing. 

The Spartan looks up, its visor glowing suddenly, along with the lines on its body. “Psionic being sensed,” it says as the lit up lines and visor fade. “Ethereal?” The word is a question.

Elyion nods at it. I am bonded.

“Your host is not organic,” it says. “You are dying.”

 

If PC’s ears could perk, they would. “You’re dying?”

It is fine. We will remove the Elders. That is my mission, because it first was yours. 

“You’d do that?” he asks. 

You are resolute in your wanting to protect humanity. I am happy to go along, if you feel so strongly. 

“Let us go,” says the Spartan. “Before we are caught.”

“Right,” says PC. “Elyion—“

There is a ripple, and the Ethereal and him are one again. He turns to the Spartan. “Keep close to me,” he says. “We’re just a left and a right from a exit door.” 

He leads the way out of the room—

—and that’s when the alarms start.

“Oh, that’s not good,” he says. He looks to the Spartan. “Do you know left and right?” 

There is a moment of hesitation. “Yes, generally; our translators have enough of your planet’s languages cataloged for me to understand.” 

“Then run.”

“What about you?”

“Go!”

The Spartan hesitates once more. “This will not be forgotten,” it says. Then, finally, it flees; PC hears the metal twang of the push bar, the additional siren wailing through the facility to create a terrible cacophony of sound. 

PC hears footsteps, and sighs. 

“It was a good try,” he says to Elyion.

We almost made it...we could have made it. 

“It’s ok,” he says. “We’ll be okay.”

The humans come, and they absently pick up him and take the key card, they tuck him in a box that locks when they close it. PC lies there, slightly squished, breathing heavy in the dark as they leave him on a shelf back in the storage room he found the Spartan in.

There is a commotion then, and he can hear the scientists panicking, the sound of boxes being pushed around, and he smiles to himself. Eventually it quiets though, and he is left alone. 

What now? asks Elyion, and it is a scared child.

We’ll wait, he thinks back. We’ll wait, and we’ll try again.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

The next few ‘sessions’ follow a similar pattern; it’s only Jake now who visits with him, and always with a game. PC tells the man about each alien, one per session, in as much detail as he can remember. Jake records this with a small device in his shirt pocket, jotting down extra notes on a little notepad every so often during the games. 

It’s been about a week now, that PC has been here. He shifts around in the box, slightly uncomfortable but still halfway between wakefulness and sleep. He is about to try to fully sleep again when the alarms go off.

He perks up slightly. No telling if this was a accident, or someone else is trying to break out, or—

He perks up more. There’s someone kicking at the door—

“Under the handle!” Tulip’s voice.

A cracking sound followed by a loud crash, and then footsteps frantic into the room, haphazardly rummaging through the boxes from what he can tell from all the noise. He hears another voice that makes his heart soar: “Something’s Awake in this one!” 

Espeon. 

All at once the top of his box is practically ripped off, and another voice he isn’t expecting rings through the air: “I found him!”

“Well then, grab him, Alex!” comes the answer from outside; Davey. 

He doesn’t even have time to blink as the human roughly pulls him from the box and tucks him under their arm. They go barreling out of the storage room, Espeon on their heels, thundering over the door they kicked down, joining Davey and Tulip in running down the hallway. The latter are holding two big black cases, as well as Alice tucked into the front of Tulip’s jacket. 

“What the hell—“ begins PC. 

“No questions until we get out of here,” Alice says, as Tulip pushes open the exit door, setting off that alarm on top of the rest.

Alex bolts into the night, stumbling slightly on the sudden terrain change. PC hears Davey and Tulip running a few paces behind, and fainter still, the sound of the facility alarms cutting through the dark. 

“Go, go, go!” yells Davey as he catches up to Alex. The latter is in a all out sprint now, only slowing as they come up to the car and throw open the door. The other two reach it as well moments after, staggering to a stop and throwing their cases into the back before jumping in themselves.

Davey slams his foot on the gas and the car roads across the grass, rumbling slightly. He drives around the vacant lot until he reaches where the road is and the car lurches back onto the asphalt, and soon the facility is a distant point in the rear view mirror. 

PC, still tucked under Alex’s arm and in the back seat, twists so that he’s looking up at the humans. He begins to speak, but it turns into delighted laughs as Espeon comes running over, jumping up into Alex’s lap and mashes her head against his face. 

“Did they hurt you?” she asks. “Davey, turn the car around, I have humans to fuck up!”

“I’m okay,” he says, and smiles gratefully as Tulip reaches back and puts Alice into Alex’s lap as well. “I’m okay.”

“I am so glad,” says Alice. “We were so worried.” She gently strokes his face, and he closes his eyes, enjoying the friendly touch. “You are very brave.”

“Did they do any weird science stuff?” asks Espeon. “Are you part mutant experiment now?”

“We played a lot of checkers, actually,” he says, opening his eyes again.

“Checkers isn’t science,” says Espeon. “These are bad scientists.”

“Enough reunions,” Alice says, and pulls her paw away from him, her professionalism returned. “I suspect PC has questions.”

“Yeah,” he says. “How did you guys find me, for one.” 

“Some guy in cosplay led us here,” Davey says. “Some kind of Halo getup; he’s still back there, caused a distraction that set off the alarms so we would have time to look for you.” 

“He also said he had something to pick up himself, so don’t worry about him coming back with us,” Tulip says. “I’m still worried; he’s gonna get himself KGB’d or something.”

“I dunno,” says Alex, “he seemed pretty hardcore. Hardcore dudes can go toe to toe with pretty much anything.”

PC internally murmurs a quick thanks to the Spartan, and hopes Awakening will be a little non discriminatory and somehow aid them in getting back out. He speaks out loud: “What’s in the cases?”

“We’re not sure,” says Davey. 

“But,” interrupts Tulip, “we did see blueprints in another room for something similar to that brain hacking thing in your game—“

“You played 2 while I was gone?”

“Watched the videos for it,” she says. “And for EW. Espeon insisted.”

“It’s both educational and fun,” the Pokémon says with a nod.

“Together we came up with that we probably need to do something like Skulljacking to figure out where the Elders are based,” says Alice. “Although the possibility they are in a ocean base is high, it is a matter of finding both it and a way in, preferably one of those Psigates. So when Tulip found these in nearby storage, we assumed they were probably prototypes, and decided to take them.” 

“So you... stole government property,” he says, somewhat mystified.

“You’re technically government property, too,” says Alex.

“Alright, fair,” he answers. “Now what?”

“We’re meeting with those engineers again to take a look at the prototypes, see if we can get them working,” says Davey. “Alex suggested that they’ll need that Elerium stuff to work, and those guys are the only ones besides the aliens who have that.”

“Do you have any idea how the Skulljack worked?” asks Tulip. 

PC furrows his brow. “It was a mix of mechanical and Psionics based technology,” he says. “Definitely had some kind of Elerium crystal powering it. I think you’re on the right track.”

“Awakening will aid,” says Alice. “I am sure that it can step in if the Elerium is not enough.”

“We’re on our way to the engineers now,” says Davey. “Better to get this stuff somewhere it can be hidden as fast as possible then wander around with it, I think.” 

“We’ve been doing a lot of that,” says Tulip. “Wandering, I mean.”

“Did they harass you when they came for the corpses?” PC asks.

“Tried to take the kids into custody,” Alice says. “Awakening provided.”

“Apparently it made us look entirely different to those government agents,” Davey explains. “But we’ve still been on the move, staying low...”

“There’s a new alien around now,” says Alex. “There’s been a few reports, passing it off as paranoia, but they look just a bit too unreal to actually be human, even in the fuzzy photos.”

“Thin Men,” says PC. “They mentioned that those were being fielded to me in the facility.”

“What’s their purpose, besides sneaking around?” asks Tulip.

“What’s any aliens purpose?” says Espeon. “Be cannon fodder for the Elders, abduct some humans, play space poker—“

“I think some of them are probably acting as false ambassadors for the elders,” PC says. “Going to the heads of countries, getting those places to fall in line, agree to occupation over invasion.”

“We better hurry up then,” says Alex. “If it’s not too late.”

Elyion’s resolve, its certainty, surges through PC. “It’s not,” he says, and it’s insistent. “We will prevent it. We have to.”

And yet, nagging at the back of his mind: what if we don’t?

What if we fail?


	19. Chapter Nineteen

The six of them are sitting around Bigly’s dining room table, the prototypes in the middle. They’re two black gauntlets, with metal prongs coming off each side, with adjustable straps. It slides onto the arm and sits just about the wrist, and and there’s a switch on the rim that activates the Elerium core, turning the device on. 

At least, it’s supposed to. 

PC picks one up, slides it on, does the same for the other, admires how they looks on his arms.

Davey speaks up: “How long until you think they’re ready for testing? 

Bigly drums his fingers against the table. “Honestly, can’t say,” he says. “Could be a month, could be half a year; we’ve not got any idea how manipulate the Elerium’s Psionic output. We need time to draw up concepts, do material tests, make trial versions of the internals—“

“We don’t have that kind of time,” interrupts Tulip.

PC rubs his right thumb up against the mock switch of the right protojack. He feels heat pulse at the core of his being. Alice’s voice echos from it, faintly: Awakening provides.

“I think I can fix that,” he says, and before anyone can say anything, he flicks both protojacks on. 

The prongs jump with green light, crackling. Bigly and Alex jump in their seats, the latter clean out onto the floor. Davey helps them back up as he stares wide eyed.

Lizard, coming back into the dining room with a beer from Bigly’s fridge, drops their drink at the sound and comes running over. “How are you doing that?” they demand. “There’s no connections yet, no mechanism to conduit the energy—“

“What can I say?” says PC. “Looks like I’m magic.” 

Bigly squints at him. “I have a theory,” he says finally. “Turn them off, take them off.” 

PC complies; Bigly puts them on and flicks the switches. 

Nothing.

He passes them to Tulip. “Try them,” he says. She does, and like before, nothing happens. Bigly takes them back, looks them over with narrowed eyes. “Doesn’t seem to be any trick here, that I can see...”

“How did you do that?” asks Lizard again, taking the protojacks from Bigly and turning them over in their hands. “There’s no way you should be able to!”

“Dude already told you,” Tulip says, leaning back in her chair as she takes a drink of her beer. “He’s magic.”

“I don’t believe it,” says Lizard. “You get something when you went to White House? Something up your sleeve?” They reach for PC’s arm; he jerks away, and only after realizes that won’t quell any suspicion.

Alex comes to his rescue: “Hey, he’s touch adverse, leave him alone!”

Lizard looks away. “Sorry,” they say.

“No hard feelings,” says PC. He pretends to yawn behind his hand. “I’m pretty tired, I’m gonna head on to bed.”

A chorus of ‘good nights!’ follow him out of the dining room, across the living room, and up the stairs. When he reaches the top, he finds Espeon, who grins up at his shocked face.

“What are you doing?” he whispers. 

“Listening,” she says. “How did you make the protojacks work?”

“Psionics, I think, but also Awakening? I think more the latter, actually,” he says, picking her up and carrying her with him to the guest room, where he sits down on his sleeping bag next to the bed. 

Alice, gently tucked in, sits up. “How did it go? Are they coming along?” she asks.

“I think I figured out how to shortcut the production time,” PC says. 

Espeon wriggles free of his hands. “Awakening provides,” she says, in a mockery of Alice’s voice. 

Alice blinks. “What happened?”

“The protojacks aren’t able to turn on yet, but I was able to make something happen very similar to what we want,” he says. “I - I think it was due to Awakening magic. I just- I picked them up and I thought, ‘I want these to work’, and they did.”

“Awakening is often like that of a child’s mind,” says Alice. “Belief is action and action belief.”

“So it seems,” he says quietly. 

“Now all we gotta do is find some aliens and zap!” Espeon pounces at PC’s shoelaces. “One Outsider Shard, please!”

“I really hope that works,” he says. “We really don’t want to wait around and let them get to Codex Brains.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” says Alice. “If not innately, your belief will provide instead.”

PC isn’t sure that’s how this works, but he’s too tired to really care. He stretches out against the sleeping bag and pulls his blanket up from its crumpled heap at his feet; Espeon curls against his chest.

He’s just about to nod off when there’s a thundering up the stairs, and a cacophony of yelling above him to ‘wake up, cmon, there’s reports of a crashed UFO nearby, cmon!’ 

He struggles to his feet, nearly tripping. Alex steadies him; the rest of the humans have already raced back down the stairs. Espeon and Alice stand up, looking up at him expectantly; he scoops them into his arms and follows Alex back down through the living room, past the bewildered and amused faces of the engineers to the back door.

They push a flashlight into his hands as the two of them jog to the car, scrambling into the back seat. Once they’re in, Davey starts driving, car bouncing slightly from rocketing over speed bumps.

“I’m not sure this is a great idea,” says PC.

“What do you mean, not a great idea? It’s fucking aliens,” says Espeon, who is peeking out from his hoodie pocket. Alice, on the other side of the pocket, sighs.

“I think that is exactly the issue,” she says. Louder, she asks, “do any of you have a weapon?”

“We brought the protojack,” says Tulip, patting the case on her lap.

Alice squints. “I suppose if it is only you and Espeon it will be okay,” she says.

“I don’t know, Alice,” says PC, but Tulip cuts him off.

“You’re pretty sure we need this to get through the alien’s front door, right? To even find that door? Then put away your doubts because this is the best shot we got,” she says. 

He sees she has her phone open to a picture of a Outsider; she shows this to him. “You’re looking for this, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It’ll be in the UFO itself...”

“We’ll make a distraction of some kind for you,” says Alex.

“Oh, no we will not,” says Davey.

“Oh yes we will!” Tulip grins wickedly. “Oh yes we will!”


	20. Chapter Twenty

The UFO has gone down in the backwoods off the road; PC, fitted with the protojacks, Espeon on his heels, creeps through the trees toward the flickering fire light of the wreck, despite every instinct telling him to turn tail and run.

It’s the fire, mostly- all Awakened fear it, it’s one of the few things that can spell destruction for their kind. And being in such a flammable environment isn’t helping his nerves. 

He glances back behind him. Through the brush he can just make out the shape of the car, where the humans have parked it besides the road. He can hear Tulip a few paces away as she makes her way through the forest, deliberately stepping on twigs and generally making a racket. 

PC and Espeon reach the small clearing like area where the UFO went down first, crouching in the dark on the edge of where the Elerium powered force field ‘walls’ spill out a low light across the grass that mingles with orange of the small fires around the craft. Soon enough he sees Tulip emerge from the woods, the human shouting and waving her phone around. 

Something in the underbrush rustles. Espeon, at PC’s feet, darts to crouch near a rock a pace away, her felt gem glowing. She fires off a Psybeam moments later, and a Sectoid cries into the dark. 

Espeon flicks her tail toward where the death kneel came. “Aliens are such easy prey,” she says to PC as he moves up, ducking behind a lone tree near her. 

“That’s just because they’re fodder,” he whispers back. “Mutons arent easy. Neither are sectopods.”

Espeon flicks her tail again, at him this time. “Of course not,” she says. “That’s when we run away and let the humans, who preferably have guns in this hypothetical, do the work.”

PC steps from behind the tree, low to the ground, and closes the gap between him and where the wall of UFO becomes metal. He presses against it, listening so intently that he starts slightly when Espeon runs over to join him. 

He peers into the force field; they’ve approached from the ship’s back, so he gets a nice view of the Elerium core of the ship- sparking, green electricity crackling up and down its length. A lone Sectoid is nearby, holding a small tablet, which it looks at periodically as it inspects the core. The alien seems shaken, which PC guesses is a given, since it just survived its ship crashing. 

No sign of the Outsider, though. 

“Don’t you have to make it show up?” asks Espeon, quiet, quiet. “Like, step into its eyesight?” 

“You queue up a psybeam behind me, ok?” 

She winks. “You got it.”

He swallows, looks toward Tulip; the girl is actually taking photos with her phone now, but pauses when she catches his gaze. He mouths ‘I’m going in’.

‘Gotcha covered,’ she mouths back, before taking a long breath, and practically screaming, “Holy fuck, is that a alien?”

The Sectoid inside the ship scrambles away from the core, dropping its tablet and darting into the woods. As PC steps through the force field, Espeon taking his place behind the metal, the air near the controls ripples—

“Here we go,” he says to himself, and with one hand sparks one of the protojacks; the other he spools up a burst of Psionic energy and lobs at the Outsider as it coalesces its form. 

He dives out of the way as it returns fire. Behind him, he hears Espeon swear, fears the worst, but only until she flings out Psybeam with “Yo, fuck you, Crystal Gem knock off dickhead fucker man!”

He jumps to his feet, lunges up at the Outsider with both protojacks going off now. The alien makes a bellowing sound, that makes him cringe and flinch, but he manages to make contact and get the prongs of the protojacks around the gem. He hangs desperately onto the alien that way, kicking hard at where its hands should be, narrowly succeeding in knocking its gun out of its grasp and across the floor. 

Espeon lets out what he can only classify as a war cry and comes running into the ship’s interior, launching what he thinks is the Pokémon equivalent to his Psionic balls at the Outsider- it whirls purples and pinks and glows, and when it hits the Outsider, the golden light of the being flashes white. 

“Tulip!” PC yells. 

The girl comes barreling into the ship with no hesitation, snatching up the gun, and after a small pause of consideration, firing it at the Outsider.

The alien bellows again, PC tightens the prongs’ grip, and then is blown across the ship to hit the metal wall as the Outsider explodes, leaving nothing but the honey colored shard that he still clings to as he sits up, shaking his head.

Tulip gazes around the ship, looks toward the Elerium core.

“Is that supposed to be sparking and smoking like that?” she asks.

“No,” PC says as he gets to his feet. “Run.”

They just manage to clear the area before the core goes off; it’s like a opening flower, bursting green and orange and gray, flinging metal and other bits that rain down onto the pair through the branches. Tulip keeps her grip tight on the plasma pistol, and PC on the Outsider Shard.

They meet a panicked Alex and Davey when they come panting out of the woods, the former demeaning to know what happened, what was that explosion, holy shit is that a alien gun? 

“I think the engineers will want to see this,” says Tulip, tucking the gun away with the protojacks. PC gently sets the Outsider shard into the case as well, finally daring to take a deep breath.

“That could of gone a lot worse,” he says as Davey pulls the car back onto the road. 

“Did you see?” says Espeon, jumping down from his shoulder into his lap. “Did you see? I did a ball attack like you!”

“I did, I did,” he says. “Good job.”

“Hehe, balls,” says Tulip; Espeon snickers. Alice shuts her eyes and shakes her head from where she is held in Alex’s lap next to him.

They spend the rest of the car ride back to the engineers telling Alex, Davey, and Alice exactly what happened; the two humans play a good audience and oooohing and aaaahing at all the right parts. 

Alice sighs upon the story’s completion. “You could have gotten shot, hanging onto it like that,” she says.

“But he didn’t,” says Espeon.

“Still,” says Alice, crossing her tiny arms as much as she can, “that was very dangerous, all of this was, and I’m appalled.”

“But Mom—“ begins Tulip. 

“And your use of that weapon when you had no idea how it would behave! I am—“ She takes a breath. “I am very glad you are all alright, and am forbidding you to do anything like this again.”

“Alice, this is real XCOM hours, you have to let us fight aliens,” Espeon says. 

She sighs again. “I suppose.”

A cheer goes up from Alex, Tulip, and Espeon; Davey and Alice groan. 

PC just leans back in his seat and smiles.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

When they get back to the house, the Outsider Shard is taken out of the black case and poked and prodded. PC turns it over and over in his hands, thinking of the shadow chamber, thinking of the gap in technology, thinking thinking—

“Try touching it with the activated protojack?” says Tulip, and the engineers nod. PC shrugs, fits one of the jacks to his arm, sparks it to life, and lightly clamps the progs around the crystal. Green light crackles about it, but nothing else happens. 

Tell us something, PC thinks at it, tell us anything. Tell us where to go. Tell us. 

The protojack crackles; the crystal sits glimmering yellow orange, still and silent. 

PC sighs, turns off the protojack and puts it away. Tulip makes grabby hands for the Shard, and he lets her take it, watches her handle it in much the same way he did. 

“Maybe we should turn it over to the government,” says Davey. 

A chorus of ‘no!’ answers him, and he relents, mumbling something about ‘it was just an idea’. Bigly talks of taking a sample, running it through tests, but PC isn’t sure breaking it is a good idea. 

The Shard makes its way to Alex, whose hands barely wrap around it. They stare at it, and their shoulders slump slightly. A sort of dazed looks comes over their eyes, and for a moment, PC thinks he sees something flicker in them, but he isn’t sure. 

“You okay?” he asks.

Alex does not respond. Tulip gently punches them in the shoulder; the motion makes their body sway slightly, but still they do not make any move to show they have registered the hit. Davey frowns. 

“Alex—“

The freshman’s eyes, which have slid shut, snap open again. Their hands drop from the crystal, letting it clatter against the table. Lizard chides them, but there’s still a faraway look in their eyes that PC thinks means they don’t hear the other at all. 

“Alex?” he asks. 

“Latitude: -37.60903, Longitude: -161.80187, Distortion: 1.59,” they mumble. “Latitude: 40° 38' 5.39" North,  
Longitude: -80° 04' 33.00" West.” A blink. “I don’t know what that means. But it’s important. 

Almost as soon as the coordinates have left Alex’s mouth, multiple people are whipping out their phones, typing furiously. It’s Tulip who gets the news out first: “It’s at some kind of facility, the second one.”

PC’s heart sinks. “What kind?” he asks. 

Tulip squints, scrolls. “Some kind of retreat? A ... camp? Something for helping people with CPS...”

“What’s that?” asks Davey, as he puts the Outsider Shard away into the prototype case, struggling to find a configuration in which it will close. 

“Some kind of headache disorder? Seems more than that. Bloody noses, headaches, insomnia, faint feeling, pain behind the eyes, exhaustion, fatigue, heightened anxiety...”

Alex, still half in a stupor, sits up slightly. “What’s it called, again?” they ask, voice thick. 

“CPS,” says Tulip. “Not to be confused with Child Protective Services.” 

“Shit,” says Alex.

“What’s wrong?” asks PC, even though something in him is screaming, has been since Tulip read the symptoms list. He just can’t figure out what it’s trying to tell him.

“I think I have that,” says Alex.

Tulip and Davey exchange looks as the latter finally snaps the case closed. “I guess we have a way in,” he says as he slides the case under the bed and stands up. “Can you call? Email?”

“Doing the second one so now,” says Tulip, Alex moving to sit next to her and PC on the floor, murmuring their symptoms so that the other can include them in the report. 

“What was the other coorindate set?” asks PC.

Bigly frowns as he types. “Just the middle of the ocean,” he says. 

“Ah,” says PC. “I... I think I know what that is.” He glances at the others, who shake their heads. 

“Nothing we can do about that,” says Tulip. “Let’s focus on this facility.” 

“So what about the Psi Gate?” asks Davey. Lizard starts to ask what he means, but Tulip answers faster. “We’ll have Alex go in, and snoop around ourselves. It could still be on public property, like some woods nearby or something.”

“And if it’s not we’ll go full XCOM?” 

“Yeah, exactly!”

“Your encouraging her just makes it worse,” says PC, laughing tiredly. 

“I mean, she’s got a point,” Davey says after a moment. “We might have no other choice.” He pauses. “This has been one long road trip,” he adds, mostly to himself. 

“Isn’t it better then bar tending?” asks Tulip.

“Oh, god, yeah,” Davey says. Tulip laughs.

“And sent,” says she, putting her phone away. “We can head out toward there tomorrow morning, acceptance or not.”

The humans drift out of the room then, into the other spare bedroom, leaving PC to ascend back up the stairs to lie on his sleeping bag and Alex lying back down in the bed. They roll over so that they’re looking down at PC, and Alice and Espeon as they emerge from his coat pocket.

“Do you think they can help me?” she asks.

“I’m sure they’ll be able to at least give you a direction,” Alice says. Alex gums and turns back over, shuffling a little and then falling still. 

PC watches them sleep for a while, nothing the rise and fall of their body as they breath, and the distinct lack of that in his own body. He consciously breathes for a few moments, but it only serves to make him well aware of his lack of actual nose, actual lungs. Alice looks up at him from her place near his head.

“You’re worried?”

“Typical Awakening anxiety,” he says, as Espeon curls into the crook of his leg. “I guess I’m just nervous something’ll go wrong.”

“More often then not, it all ends up okay,” says Alice, and he wants to believe her. He does.

But he cannot.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

It’s dusk as Davey drives the van along the bumpy dirt roads that leads to the main building in the ‘rehabilitation campus’. They park and unload Alex and their luggage (a single bag; the rules for stay are pretty tight), Espeon and Alice making PC promise to come back and check in to assure them things are going ok. 

PC blinks. Here is a two story building, dark wooden roof tiles and white outside paneling. A sign on the front reads ‘Welcome Center’, with a porch out front and a map on a sign on one end. 

He walks with Alex up the wooden steps of the porch into a white tiled lobby. Davey and Tulip tail them, taking seats on the couches in near the reception desk, the latter putting her feet up on the coffee table and knocking off the magazines. 

The receptionist looks up from her computer, and blinks at PC and Alex. She glances at her screen, and then a look of understanding comes over her. 

“You must be the one we got a email about,” she says as she stands up and comes out. She shakes Alex’s hand, and the kid looks down at their shoes, mumbling a hello back. 

“Yeah,” says PC, “they’re here for the, uh, treatment stay.”

The woman looks over Alex’s shoulder at him, and squints. “Are you sure they’re the one in need of it?” 

“I’m sorry?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says. “Give me a moment and we’ll get you all set up.” 

The receptionist disappears back behind her desk through a door. PC looks at Alex, and gives them a encouraging look. “It’ll be alright,” he says. “Probably normal rehabilitative things.” 

Alex shuffles awkwardly, mumbling something he can’t hear. He goes to ask them to repeat themselves, but the doors behind the receptionist desk fly open, and a bustle of people in blue scrubs, headed by the receptionist, come rushing out and around PC and Alex. There’s shouting, something about ‘severe case’ and ‘immediate procedures’, and in the rush someone grabs him by the arm and drags him off away from the others.

He struggles; the grip tightens.

“Hey! You’ve got the wrong—“

“We know exactly what we’re doing,” says the person who’s got his arm. PC is pulled down the hall, and then pushed into a dark room. The person flips on the overhead light to reveal a operating table, and pauses.

“You’re not going to cooperate, are you?” they say, and sigh behind their surgical mask. 

“Uh, no?”

“Mm,” they say as the door opens again, and their hand goes into their pocket for a moment. A few seconds later, a gaggle of more operators come in and PC is overwhelmed by a force of hands and arms who strip him of his clothes - there is no hesitation when his true form is revealed, only rough hands grabbing at him to bring up him onto the table, where he’s strapped down. 

Once he’s secure, a few of the people shed their scrubs to reveal long sleeved luxurious purple and silver clothes, masks still on and then accompanied by hoods drawn over their heads, and hurry out of the room. He shouts after them, and then at the people checking the bed straps, but no one responds to him. 

PC shifts against the bonds, squinting as the main operator, the one with the crooked mask who brought him here, brings the surgical light to hang over him. 

A rolling cart is brought in; on it, a number of precision devices, all for cutting flesh. Awakening instinct kicks in his mid— occasional repair by scissors is generally accepted, but not like this. 

“What are you doing?” PC asks, and then yelps in horror as a tool is dragged across his middle, splitting the fabric and spilling out stuffing. Astral limbs jump back to life, only to disappear again at the pressure of the bonds. He stares, mute in pain, as the main operator prods his stuffing and peels back the fabric hole to look inside. 

The main operator grunts and begins to pull out handfuls of PC’s stuffing; the others around them are whispering, things like ‘burn it out’ and ‘show it your gift’ and other things that PC can’t really parse through the haze of ache. 

He feels the Ethereal shift against his being, asking what’s going on. He can barely answer. 

They’re looking for something, I think.

The Ethereal hums. They are all psionic, it says.

Oh. That’s... worrisome. 

The last word is half indistinguishable and turns into muddled feeling of terror and pain at the end as another cut is made, along a seam this time (just under the ribbon), causing more stuffing to fall to the floor. PC can feel his consciousness splitting, gets flickers of viewpoints from the floor up at the bodies of the humans surrounding him, of fingers grasping and releasing into a pile. 

Can I help? asks the Ethereal.

I don’t know, he thinks and the words are scarcely formed. I don’t know. I think they’re going to kill me.

PC feels a shudder through his self, and then the Ethereal is hanging above him, above the table and the humans, glimmering green red and absolutely howling. The humans scatter to sides of the room at the appearance, the main operator jumping and dropping his tool to point up at the ghostly figure.

“Is that what the Great Revered Emissary prophesied...?” the main operator says, their voice barely a whisper behind their mask. 

The other doctors, crouched against the walls, murmur quiet hymn like noises, or perhaps they speak amongst themselves; PC isn’t sure, isn’t sure of anything besides the pain that muted him and dulls everything except the former to a sharp constant. PC screws his eyes shut. 

Time must pass, or he must pass out, more the latter, for when he opens his eyes again, he is somewhere else. PC blinks wearily in the lowlight, at the rough wooden walls and tin roof, and is not sure. 

He feels the swift movement of a sewing needle, and glances down; it is a girl in a light purple dress, with long white hair and eyes glimmering red-purple. She is sewing up the cut along his side, one hand clutching stuffing and tucking it back inside of him as she goes.

It hurts still, it burns, even her work does, but as she sews first the side seam closed and then the cut across his ‘stomach’, the pain lessens, and then dulls to throbbing. 

PC sits up best he can. The girl puts down her tools and, somewhat shyly, offers him the clothes that had been thrown to the floor. He wills his limbs to existence, dresses, gently touches the now stitched ‘wounds’ with trembling fingers.

“Thank you,” he says finally.

The girl is quiet. Awakening blazes as she gazes at him, and him back: she is young, and she has helped him, and so it is known he must do the same for her. It aches like the wounds do now, aches like the missing of his beholden does. 

“Not sure what they were doing,” he continues, somewhat thickly through the shake that still grasps his voice in its fear coated hands. “Just glad they didn’t get any further...”

PC rubs his side with one hand, plays his fingers about his stomach with the other. The girl blinks hair out of her eyes. 

“My name’s Pillow Central,” he says to her, because she has seen his natural self, and she is a child, and they can be trusted with true names.

“My name’s Sam,” says the girl. “Page Sam.”

“Wish I could say it’s nice to meet you, but...” He shrugs, inhales and exhales slowly, tries to get the spots out of his eyes, tries to breathe. “You, uh, you do good needle work.”

“Dame Maria teaches us the work,” she says.

“Dame?” PC asks. “Your family uses titles?”

She nods. “Everyone has a place,” she says. Her eyes get squinty. “Even outsiders. Even Ethereals.” 

He blinks. “You know what a Ethereal is?”

“Everyone calls you that,” she says. “They’re trying to keep it down, but Knight Keith told the Matriarchs, and my sister who’s in training overhead, and—“

“How long has it been?” he asks, mostly to himself. He needs to get out of this room. Needs to find his friends. He begins to get up, but Sam shoves him back into the corner, furiously shaking her head.

“They’re looking for you,” she says, “and you do not want to be found.” 

“My friends...” 

PC tries to explain, wills himself to, but the words trail off into a exhausted half sputtering. She frowns at him.

“You must also rest,” she says. 

He mumbles something about that being a human thing, and she rolls her eyes. “Psionics are a human thing,” she says, “a blessed gift from those coming, but you have it too.”

He could explain, but the world is spinning again, and he slumps deeper into the corner. He could explain, but there are pulses of darkness at the edges of his vision, that threaten to swallow him up. 

So he, somewhat incoherently, concedes her that point. She stands and disappears out of the swinging gate, and for a moment he is able to glance across the dirt hall, is able to connect this with things he’s seen and understand this is some kind of stable, before she returns carrying a large blanket which she drapes over him. 

“I’ll be back later,” she says. “I have go now. To classes. They’ll wonder where I’ve been.”

 

PC weakly waves her on, letting himself fully slide along the stable wall and lay there as she leaves, listening to the buzz of the flies and the soft breaths of the animals housed with him. 

The quiet does not ease his nerves, only exacerbates it, and he finds that he is asking Awakening once again ‘protect them, protect them, protect them.’ Less a prayer, and more a begging.

He sinks into sleep finally, the hymns of desperation still echoing in his mind.

(Protect them. Protect them. Protect them.)


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

The night passes, and the the next day. PC does little more then sleep, stirring occasionally to check that the girl’s sewing remains in place as Awakening seeps into it. 

When he wakes fully, the sun is low in the sky, and he walks the small stables with legs slightly jelly, pausing a few times to lean on one of the support rails between the stalls. Dust kicks up at his footsteps, silvery golden notes in the fading light. He pushes his way out of the front doors, and stands blinking in their arch way, trying to orient himself. 

He can see all the way across the ‘campus’ is the back of the ‘Welcome Center’, which extends from there to halfway to the stables, ending in a porch that leads down to a gravel circle patch; along the circular form are two long buildings the stable rests just beyond of. 

A house is situated on the other side of the ‘campus’, with a large greenhouse off to the side of it and a chicken coop, and further off, on the right of the stables, a padlock with a pond. In the middle of this x configuration is a large square building, no windows, and only one, well locked exit from what PC can tell as he warily darts from shadow to shadow around the buildings. 

He narrowly ducks behind a truck parked nearby the gravel circle as someone comes out of the one exit square building, and though he cannot hear what they say, he can see the way one of them is frowning and how the other is shaking their head. 

PC keeps moving, knocking over some laundry left out on clothings lines across the gravel circle as he moves under and across. He slides to hide behind the form of the left building, and finds he is breathing heavily. 

He takes a moment to inhale. Alice would tell him he’s getting all caught up in probability, would ask him to tell her what’s the most likely outcome, rather then the worst, would assure him of that. 

But Alice isn’t here. Alice is in the car with Espeon. 

PC, sprinting across the gravel to crouch behind the right building, pauses, looks at the ‘Welcome Center’’s back again. He could use a little help, now that he’s thinking about it. 

PC rushes across the lawn for the side of the Welcome Center, drops into a army crawl and makes his way across the grass along the side of the building until his elbows hit gravel, and hauls himself to his feet once he’s cleared a few feet from the building. 

PC jogs across the lot, weaving between vehicles half crouched, ducking down even more slightly one he reaches the van and hoping no one noted. He presses half frantic fingers against the door handle, knows that it’s locked, pulls it anyway. 

He sees Espeon’s dark form jump up on the seats. He waves at her, and then is sent crashing to the asphalt to try to avoid the glass as she flings a Psybeam at the window, the pieces shattering around him. 

Espeon’s head appears in the broken frame of the window, wobbling; as PC stands back up, he can see she is balancing on the arm rest. Alice, still seated in the chair, looks toward him. 

“Something is wrong,” she says.

“No shit,” says Espeon and jumps out the window, swearing inaudibly as she dances around the shards of glass and clambers up PC’s leg to end up on one of his shoulders. “There, much better. What’s going on? Where’s the humans?”

PC reaches through the window and picks up Alice; the latter stares back at the broken glass. “Davey will be upset,” she says.

“If he’s still around to feel things,” Espeon answers. She gives PC a little ear wiggle and a grin. “That’s what we’re facing, right? Some life or death shit? Full XCOM?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “When we went in, I got swarmed—“

“Swarmed?”

“By operators; they grabbed me, pulled me into a room, started tearing me apart—“

Alice cuts him off, gently pushing her paws against his thumb. “Are you... functional?” she asks.

“Well it’s certainty not a good addition to all his fires,” says Espeon, “and boys got a lot of fires!”

“Hush, Espeon,” says Alice. 

“I’m... it’s...” He struggles for a moment, cannot breathe for a moment. “It’s fine, a girl found me and helped me, it’s fine.”

Espeon perks her ears. “Ooooh, a girl?” Her tail lashes. “You can’t replace me or Alice, you know that! Not with some human girl!”

“Not like that, Espeon, please,” he says, and she laughs. 

Alice looks toward the Welcome Center, narrows her eyes. “What do you want us to do?” she asks. 

“Well, I want Espeon to be ready to help me make a distraction,” he says. “You- I just want someone around. I don’t want to go in there alone.”

“Why don’t you ask the girl?” says Espeon with a sneer. 

“It’s not a bad suggestion,” Alice says. “She knows more about this place then you.”

“Maybe,” PC says. “She did say I didn’t want to get caught—“

“That’s XCOM protocol though; don’t get caught,” says Espeon. “Don’t get caught, kill the alien, celebrate prematurely, get your base fucked up, lose the earth, get your ass tanked, cue xcom 2.”

“That’s what we’re trying to avoid,” Alice says, as PC says, rather quietly, “I really don’t want to get cut up again, anyway.”

Alice hums. “Let’s find the girl,” she says. “Maybe she can help us. If not, she can at least point us toward someone or something that is.”

“And if we get found first?”

“Well, you did say you wanted Espeon to possibly be a distraction; if we are found, she will be one.”


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

With Alice in his pocket and Espeon on his shoulder, he creeps back across the campus to press flat against the side of one of the long buildings, heeding the senses of the Pokémon as she explains that she can perceive a collection of Psionic beings nearby. 

This leads him into a small almost lobby, bare concrete with large windows and a bench running beneath them, a water fountain on the opposite wall, before the room splits at the sides into the long buildings— he thinks perhaps they’re dormitories, but doesn’t get a chance to confirm as he ducks into a closet when he hears voices coming toward him. He barely slides into the small space and pulls the door shut before they enter. Through the crack of the door he can see they’re young, female, wearing long skirts of purple. Their hair is all white. 

They’re talking low to each other, one of them laughs. PC strains to hear, but doesn’t pick up much more then the name ‘Sam’, which he recognizes as belonging to the girl who rescued him, and ‘punishment’. The girls walk past into their dorm, and after a few heartbeats of quiet explanation to Alice and Espeon of what he’s seen, what he knows, he slips back out of the closest, and darts across the lobby to the opposite dorm as the one the girls went into. 

It’s empty when he enters; there are bunk beds set along each long wall, the floor and ceilings bare, the sheets and pillows standard grey and tucked into hospital corners. There is no toys, no closets, no bags, no posters, no string lights. 

“What a shitty place to be a girl,” says Espeon.

“Sssh,” says Alice. 

Nothing to be found here. PC exits out of the door at the end of the dormitory wing, put into the cold grey air. Espeon shifts on his shoulder. “If you were a little Psionic girl who did something bad,” she says, “where might they take you?”

“Back to the welcome center? There’s a lot there,” he says, hesitant.

“Maybe Alex did get put into a treatment room,” offers Alice as he begins to make his way toward the back porch, slinking against the white brick walls of the dormitories’s outside. 

“Maybe,” he says, ascending the stairs, fiddling with the handle. Locked. He takes a few steps back. 

“Espeon, can you throw a Psybeam on my mark at the door?” he asks.

“Sure can,” says the Pokémon. 

He spools up a ball of Psionic energy between his palms, making grow bigger bigger bigger, and then as he releases it, says “mark!” The purple of Espeon’s psionics mingles with the green of his as they both fly at the door, and there is a crashing, a splintering, as the door comes falling off its hinges. 

“Ok,” PC says, “now jump off my shoulder and start running while yelling.” 

“Distraction duty, got it,” she says, and does as she’s told. He ducks just in time against the side of the welcome center as three men come running out, one catching sight of a fleeing Espeon and giving chase. PC breathes, begs Awakening to protect her, and heads inside. 

As he steps through the threshold, he feels Eylion gently take grasp of his conscious mind and pull it up, and he can see a sort of layout now— rooms shrouded in darkness, for they don’t know what is inside, but it can perceive them none the less. He’s in a hall of white tiles and colored lines along the wall with painted words marking ‘intensive care’ and ‘holding’ and other phrases he doesn’t quite understand. Alice hums.

“This doesn’t seem right,” she says.

“I think it’s an act,” he says, vision flickering between the battle focus map and normal. As he walks, narrowly avoiding being spotted by some nurses (well, they’re dressed as ones) by ducking into a alcove, he explains what happened to him in better detail. Alice listens silently, and he feels her nod when he is done. 

The hall is empty again, the nurses rounding the corner, and PC takes a chance to push open a door at random. A empty bed, hospital style, but lacking IVs. He shakes his head, moves to another room. 

A ping inside his head. Eylion has updated the ‘map’. There’s a basement, he realizes, and thanks the Ethereal for notifying him. In response the being light up the door marked stairs, and PC slips through it, trying to make his footsteps quiet as he goes down. 

The door to what he assumes is the basement is locked, which he finds off. Instead of the big display back at the porch, he experimentally creates and then fires a tiny Psionic ball into the lock— there’s a terrible sound of expansion, a cracking sound, and with the lock somewhat disabled he’s able to push the now semi unlocked door open just far enough to squeeze through. 

He’s hit with the feeling of heat and humidity. The basement is dark, damp, and sweltering. He blinks a few times, and hears Alice gasp. As his vision adjusts, he sees why.

Cages. Large, dog-like kennels really, but cages none the less. He approaches one, and a man he does not know, dressed in a hospital gown, stares up at him with frightened eyes. The man’s nose is sideways slightly, like it’s broken, and there’s a black bruise about his eye. 

“Oh, shit,” says PC. The man makes a motion for him to shut up, but not before a answer of ‘Bradford? Bradford!” rings across the lowlight room. A cage is lit up in his vision, and he hurries over, and there is Tulip, fingers pressed against the cage links, eyes wide. 

“Dude,” she says, “dude, you have to get us out of here.”

The man in the other cage hisses at them to be quiet. Tulip ignores him. “They handcuffed us, and blindfolded me, and dragged me kicking and screaming down here; they took Alex And Davey somewhere else, I don’t know—“

“You’re gonna get us fucking beat,” snaps the man in the other cage. Murmurs arise from the other cages. 

“They beat you?” asks PC.

“That is not proper care,” Alice whispers before Tulip can speak, “that is against the Hippocratic Oath.” 

“I don’t think any of this is within code,” he says to her. He looks to Tulip; the girl has been stripped of her clothes, given a hospital gown. “What are they doing to you? Why are they—“

“I should be asking you,” says Tulip, eyes narrowing. “I thought we were good, that we had this under control! What the hell is going on?” She pauses, and a wild look comes into her eyes. “Bradford, I think this might be a organ harvesting place. I think the treatment thing is just a front. I think- I think they’re gonna kill us.” 

“They will,” the man in the other whispers at them, furious. “They will. Now be quiet!”

“Doesn’t take talking to break someone out,” PC mumbles as he takes the thick lock on Tulip’s cage into his hands. He shifts the weight from palm to palm for a few moments, considering. 

Suddenly he feels Alice perk in the pocket. “Someone is coming,” she says. “I can hear them on the stairs.”

“Shit,” he says, letting the lock fall from his hands. “I’ll get you out,” he promises. “We’ll find the others.” 

“You better make sure they don’t catch you if you wanna make good on that,” Tulip says, backing away from the cage door. 

“I know, I know,” he says, scanning the room for somewhere, anywhere to hide. A ping again, and a small space behind a heater is light up in his vision. PC scrambles over and drops to his knees, squirms into the space, ignores Awakening howling this is a fire hazard, ignores Alice’s twisting against his stomach, focuses on the door. 

It opens slowly. The hooded figure in the doorway studies the room. A soft drawl emits from the hood: “You are among us, Ethereal. Such a power cannot hide. Come out. Come out. We have much to do. We needs you.”

PC remains stock still. The hooded figure idly raises their hands, inspects their nails, and then, all at once, fires a Null Lance at the heater. 

The Psionic energy rips clean through his jacket, through his chest area; he hears Alice scream, hears Tulip scream, hears himself scream. He’s pressed against wood and there’s pressure pressure pressure against him, as the heater explodes, as flames blossom around him. He feels fire catch on the ends of his self, and he panics, slaps at it with his hands, writhes against the ground. His hat falls off. He does not notice. Everything is about the fire, is about the fire, he has to put out the—

There is a whoosh. The flames die under the Psionic wind. The hooded figure walks up to him, looms over him. In the darkness of the hood, the entire eyes of the figure shine purple. He stares back numbly. Slender fingers pick him up, absently takes in his true form where it burns at the hole through his upper mid. PC thinks, for a moment, he sees tendrils falling away from the figure, but that can’t be right. 

“What a noble attempt,” says the hooded figure, “but unneeded. Come now, the Great Revered Emissary awaits.”


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

The hooded figure tucks him under a arm, and after a quick sweep of the cells, makes their way back to the steps and then outside. PC twists in their grasp, prompting them to hold tighter and tighter; he feels Alice squirming in his hoodie pocket, trying to avoid the arm that clamps down. 

They cross the campus to the square building in the center, and PC can see from beneath as the figure conjures a Psionic shape which they fit into the lock. Something hums, and the door opens. The figure moves quickly inside, and PC wriggles again, manages to wrench his view from being obscured by the arm. 

It’s not a large room, bare white walls and tile floor. At the center is a circular structure, dark purple and inert; it has been cleaned of vines and debris, buffed and shined. PC feels his breath catch— here is the Psi Gate, just as the Outsider Shard said it would be. 

There is a smaller room connected to this one, and its door opens, and out comes another hooded figure, whom the first kneels to. The standing figure -the Great Revered Emissary, PC guesses- barely looks at the other, attention instead on PC; gloved hands make a ‘give it here’ motion, and PC is almost reverently placed into the waiting palms. The rest of standing figure’s face is shrouded in the dark of their hood, but their eyes gleam bright purple, and in the glow PC sees them wrinkle their nose at him. 

They wordlessly dismiss the other human, and set PC down in a sitting position, head tipped ever so slightly to the side. “Why,” the Emissary says at last, “do you bond to something that does not even live? Something even lesser then the human populace? Do you have no pride?”

Eylion growls; PC feels imaginary hairs on an imaginary neck stand up. The Emissary tsks at them. “You are so young,” they say. “You could yet be redeemed.”

“Show yourself,” Eylion says, appearing and flashing green red red green. “Or are you afraid? Is that why you jump into the heads of humans?”

The gleaming glimmering purple tendrils rise, and a ghostly body follows, and the Elder looks disdainful. “Of a whelp? A whelp and a human invention that not-breathes? No, I do not fear you.”

“Then why do you hide in this host of a human?”

“I do not hide,” hisses the Elder. “I am our gatekeeper, our surveyor. No one will get through that should not. The humans are little more then vehicles to me. We will move beyond them.”

Well, I guess we knew it wouldn’t be easy, PC thinks at Eylion. The Ethereal does not answer, just trembles in anger. 

“You have such potential,” the Elder goes on. “And yet you waste it. On humanity. On their toys. You could be one of us, if you wanted. You are still able to be saved.”

“I don’t need saving—“ Eylion begins.

“You are dying,” says the Elder.

“So are you!”

“And yet we will outlast you,” they say. “Don’t you wonder what it would be like to live out your lifespan? We are merciful creatures. We can make an exception.”

“I don’t need your mercy or your exceptions,” Eylion says, and its form flickers out of existence, only to return in PC’s body as a pushing and a urge and he’s suddenly flipping out of the human’s hold, striking out with a Null Lance of his own—

A shimmering wall of purple meets the green, and it explodes on impact, sending PC staggering back a few steps. The Elder has retreated to its host, is shaking the head at them.

“We knew you would come,” it says through its mouthpiece. “We have eagerly awaited a apprentice. But humanity has soiled you, turned your heart from our cause.” Eyes flick to PC’s form. “I suppose it should not be such a surprise.” A sigh. “I will not enjoy the task of killing you, child.”

The human pulls its hood taunt; the purple glowing eyes narrow. “But it is a task I must do.”

And then they lunge; PC dives out the way, takes only a moment’s satisfaction to hear the clash of body against tile, whirls about on his feet to meet the human so rapidly rising and coming right at him.

Eylion ignites Psionic energy about his fingers and they claw at the human, the sizzle of flesh and rush of blood only a second of surprise, PC wincing and then howling as a second Null Lance from the Emissary cuts clean through, this time around his printed hip, just barely grazing Alice, who screams again, a hoarse sound. He jumps away, flings a ball of energy; it meets a Null Lance, which he narrowly avoids. 

“How long can your host last?” asks the Emissary, one moment wiping the blood from the brow of the body it carries, the next calling small bursts of purple lightning about its fingers and firing them at PC. 

“How long can yours?” snarls Eylion back, bringing PC to the floor, another Psionic energy ball fired in the half space before he hits the floor and the Psionic lightning goes flickering overhead. 

He sees purple glisten amongst the blood on the human face, and a pang of fear runs through him. Eylion, he thinks, Eylion, they can heal.

So can we.

There is a painful pulling at the edges of where the Null Lances cleaved through him, a mingle of Psionic and Awakening that burns more then should, and as he struggles to dash half stood across, he feels the fabric stretch, feels new sutures weave their way across the gaps, feels the holes closing. 

The Emissary comes running at him again, pins him against the wall, and with one deft hand sparking purple, rips PC in half. 

Eylion howls, because PC can not. 

Eylion howls, because the healing is taking too long. 

Eylion howls, and something -someone- answers.

There’s a explosion at the door, the door comes off its hinges, and there is Espeon on the shoulder of Alex, there is Davey, and there is Tulip, clutching the gun they got back at the UFO.

“Shoot that motherfucker!” yells Espeon as she fires off miniature Null Lance after miniature Null Lance at the Emissary; the gun warms, fires, and the smell of blood and burnt flesh rise in the air as the Emissary is caught in shoulder by the plasma bolt. It raises its hand and at least a hundred different ‘strings’ of energy glow about it just for a moment, but PC isn’t certain he sees this, isn’t sure of anything.

Faintly, PC hears voices, hears doors opening. His attention returns to nearby, to his split self, barely held together by the ribbon and his clothes. Davey is here, mushing everything as he picks PC up, firefighter style, narrowly avoiding being caught in the middle as the Emissary returns fire at Espeon. 

But it’s getting hard to tell exactly what is going on. Memories that aren’t real never were bubble over, he smells smoke and fire, hears the plasma guns (so much quieter then conventional weapons), hears the screaming and the cracking of wood, and his vision flickers here, not here, here, not— 

Alex shrieks, and the shriek momentarily brings him to the present, to what’s real, and a wild bolt of Psionics erupts from their hands— it catches the Emissary hard in the chest, knocks them back, gives Davey the chance to gather up the stuffing pieces that have fallen and scamper away. One hand pulls Alice from PC’s pocket, and then puts her back; the other wrapped around PC presses harder.

PC sees a squabble of people emerging from the dorms, but it feels far away. He feels far away, like he’s somewhere above this all, watching it unfold. He watches as the humans rush out of the square building, as they scramble through the growing crowd and grabbing hands to the car, as Alex and Espeon throws bolts and Tulip fires the gun at anyone who tries to stop them. 

He’s aware that Davey reaches the car first, that he’s uncermonioisly dumped into a seat. He’s aware that the other two aren’t far behind, that the car starts, wheels screaming as the truck almost spins out of the parking lot. He’s aware that there is screaming. He’s aware that there is blood, somewhere, from the person holding him together with shaking hands as they peel back his clothes and try to stitch him back into one. 

Someone speaks. PC cannot hear it. He feels the rough fabric of Alice’s paw somewhere on his form. He cannot see.

Eylion?

I am here. I am here. 

The humans...Alice, Espeon...?

Here. Safe. 

And the Emissary? Their followers?

Hunting, comes the dark reply. 

I guess it really isn’t gonna be that easy, he answers, and he isn’t sure if he says it, or he thinks it—

And then there is darkness, and he thinks, in a last second of consciousness, that he is grateful


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

When PC wakes, he is whole. That is the first thing he is aware of. He feels the rough line of stitches down his front and back, can feel them aching and burning as awakening flows through them. 

That is... good, he thinks. The thoughts are slow, disjointed. 

He remembers Eylion’s words: “hunting”. Urgency runs through him. He sits up, blinks in the low light and presses his hands against the soft thing beneath him— he is in a bed. In a room. 

That’s not right. He should be outside. In the woods? No that isn’t right either. The base never fell, there never was a base, that wasn’t real. Was this real? PC’s head hurts. He blinks, tries to clear his blurry vision. It does not go away. 

“Alice?” he calls, and he is just barely Awoken again, a terrified half child in a world he does not understand again. 

A reply, somewhere tucked against him: “I’m here. I’m here.” 

His hands roam against the space between his self and the bed, find Alice, brings her up into his vision. Her usually upturned mouth is downcast; her ears droop. Wordlessly he brings him close to him in a hug, and he feels her little paws press deep against his jacket. 

“Do you feel that?” she asks. “Has the sensation of feeling returned?”

“Yeah,” he says thickly, “yeah, I felt that. The stitched areas are kind of numb besides the matchstick burn feelings.”

She lets out a long, relived sounding sigh. He looks around; it’s a cramped hotel room, messily made bed he’s sitting on, curtain drawn on the window. He doesn’t see the humans. Doesn’t see Espeon. 

“Where—“

“Went out for food,” Alice answers. “Brought Espeon in case they ran into the Emissary or its people.”

He sinks back into the bed. “I’m supposed to protect them,” he says, half a mumble. “I’m supposed to.”

“You are not supposed to protect anyone except our Beholden,” Alice says, and he expects it to be chiding, but it is just tired. 

“We have to get back in there,” he says.

“I know,” she says.

“How are we going to do that? How are we—“

A paw on his chest, pressing through fabric to where his printed mouth is. “Worry not,” she says. “When the humans return, we will figure it out.”

He doesn’t really believe her, doesn’t really believe much of anything at the moment, but darkness tunnels his vision, and he lets his head loll onto the other pillows. 

“Were you afraid?” he asks. 

“Of course I was afraid,” she says. He think he hears her voice catch. “I very narrowly avoided destruction, and you yourself did not escape unscathed.”

“But I’m here,” he says. “I always end up being there. Here. Whenever we are. No matter what happens.” Base falls, I’m there. Earth falls, I’m there. End of everything, I’m there. 

“You are a incredibly lucky man,” she says. “I fear that your luck will run out.”

“Me too,” he says. When he goes to gently wrap his fingers around her, he finds his hands are shaking. Why are his hands shaking? 

“Are we sure we are alive?” he asks. “Are we this is not some...some punishment for human sin, that this is not...” He trails off. 

She shakes her head at him. “I think that is very unlikely,” she says.

“But it’s a possibility.”

“Bradford, please.”

“Sorry, I—“ For a moment he cannot breath, cannot phantom how is possible that he exist and not breathe. “I don’t... feel well.”

“You have had some very traumatic experiences in the past couple of days,” she says. “I would be surprised if you felt good.”

So have you, he wants to say, but he knows Alice does not speak of such things, that she will retreat into some quiet place and figure it out on her own, that she only asks for his company. Instead, he asks, “Do you think they’re safe? Are we safe?”

Alice hums. “The Ethereal spoke with us while you were out,” she says. “It is trying to mask its, ah, Psionic footprint, but...” She makes the approximation of a shrug. “It is doing its best. You should focus on doing your best, too.”

PC takes a deep breath. In, out, ignore everything in you screaming you don’t have lungs you aren’t alive so you can’t possibly be real, in, out. 

“I don’t feel safe,” he says. “I don’t feel real.”

“Then what would make you feel that way?” asks Alice. 

Faintly his memories overtake him— of self injury after flashbacks because he has nothing else to prove it, of alcohol to make it quieter, of personal encounters to distract. 

But none of that was real. 

He gently removes Alice from her spot on his chest, stumbles to the bathroom. Alice calls after him, and faintly he hears the concern. He rolls up his sleeves, grasps the edge of the sink like he’s falling, stares into the mirror.

What would make you feel safe? What would make you feel real?

The aching in his heart kicks and childishly cries for his Beholden, for the Hoard, for the safety and known of the dorm, of pre-Awakening.

It was so much easier then, he thinks. 

“John?”

Again, the name so rarely used. He leaves the bathroom, sits on the bed, gathers her up into his arms.

“Don’t leave,” he says, as if she can go anywhere anyway. 

“I won’t,” she answers. “I’m right here. I’m here.”


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

When the humans return, PC stands, sets Alice aside, and hugs Alex. It is deep, and pressing, and he thinks they must understand the need behind it because they return the intensity even with a napkin stuffed up their once more bleeding nose. 

He hugs the others too, just as deeply and almost hungrily. Davey does not entirely reciprocate, and that is fine, and Tulip squeezes back too hard, but that is fine too. 

Espeon, when he plucks her from atop Tulip’s head after breaking the hug with the latter, kneads her paws against his shirt and curses him out for scaring her so bad. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, one of many times, to her. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”

“Real xcom hours are CANCELLED,” she says, and the humans and Alice murmur weary agreement.

“Not yet,” he says. “Not yet.” 

“Well, we know where the Psi Gate is,” says Tulip, flopping onto the bed, one hand patting the bandage on her forehead. “It’s just in the middle of a Psionic hornets nest.”

“You could have left me,” Alex says. “They had me in the girl’s dormitory, I could have stayed and snuck around and—“

“Absolutely not,” says Davey. “We were absolutely not leaving you in that hell hole.” 

“We’ll figure something out,” says Espeon. “We always figure something out.”

“Did you see any of them? From the campus? Were you followed?” asks PC, and there is paranoia in his throat, memories of backstabs and betrayal that never actually occurred. 

The humans shake their heads. Espeon shakes her head too. “We woulda shot the shit outta one if there was somebody,” she says.

“Okay,” he says, but it does not ease his fears. “I’m glad you took her with you,” he says, but he isn’t certain Espeon could have done much on her own. “We’ll be alright, I think,” he says, but he doesn’t believe himself, not at all. 

“You met a girl while we were there,” says Alice. “Perhaps she can help us.”

“I don’t know,” he says.

“She helped you when she probably was gonna be punished when it got out she did that,” Espeon said. “That’s some XCOM material right there, I’d think.”

“Hair dye is cheap,” says Tulip as a possibility, only for Alex to murmur, “Awakening is cheaper.”

“Well, we’re not going back now,” Davey says. “I’d rather have some kind of arms before I did.”

“We have Tulip’s gun,” says Espeon.

“Yeah, but that’s Tulip’s,” says Davey.

“You didn’t shoot anyone did you?” asks Alice.

“I wasn’t aware that any of my firing at the sky and trees hit anyone, no,” she says. “If I did, oops, guess that’s a ‘don’t try to mob us’ lesson they got to learn.” 

“I have a gun, Alex and Espeon and PC have Psionic powers... I guess we just need two more weapons?” Tulip says. 

“I have a baseball bat in my truck,” says Davey. 

“Sick,” says Espeon. 

If it was possible for Alice to pale, she would, but in approximation just shakes her head very vigorously. “I don’t think we should be going lethal,” she says. “These people might not even be aware of what they’re doing.”

“Shit, it’s easier to pretend they’re just mindless hellions,” Tulip says, turning over onto her stomach. 

“PC met a child there,” Alice insists. “We cannot harm children.”

“Alright, alright, we only shoot to injure and only adults,” Tulip says. Espeon lolls her head in the mimic of a eyeroll. 

“We’ll go back,” says Alex. “Espeon can find the girl, and she can come talk to us, and we’ll figure something out.”

PC feels himself swallow, feels Eylion’s hope and determination rise in his gut to match Alex’s optimistic tone. 

We will succeed, hums the Ethereal out loud. 

But what if we don’t? he thinks at it. What if we—

That option is not possible. We win, or we die. We win, or Earth dies. Which will not happen. 

And that is the end of that. 


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

The humans are gone again with Espeon, getting new clothes to hide under. PC sits on the bed with Alice, gently rubbing one of her ears between his worried fingers.

“What if were using up time we don’t have?” he asks. “What we should have gone now? Awakening would have changed their clothes, wouldn’t it?”

“It would, like it did before,” she agrees, “but they are nervous, and this will make them feel more confident.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Do not worry so much. I think we would know if we were out of time.”

PC hums in disagreement, but says nothing else. 

There is a sudden knock at the door. He sits up from his half lounge, wide eyes exchanging a look with Alice. He steadies himself, steps into the mindset of psionics, reaches out with Elyion toward the door— whatever it is, it isn’t psionic, so that’s promising. He shakes back to reality, and gets up, peering through the peep hole.

“Oh,” he says, blinking.

“Who is it?” asks Alice. 

“It’s the Spartan,” he says. 

“Ah, yes,” she says, “the non-XCOM one.”

PC opens the door. The Spartan hesitates at the doorway, the large pack on their back shifting as they do. “Greetings,” they say. “I am glad to have finally caught up with you.”

PC cocks his head as he gestures for the Spartan to come inside. “Finally caught up with you?”

“After you were able to escape the laboratory, and I was able to reclaim my ship from the same place, I decided to come back and look for you,” the Spartan says. “I thought perhaps you might still need help.”

“You have a ship now?” PC asks. 

The Spartan makes a noise that Eylion says is the species equivalent to laughter. “Why else would I have stayed behind at that facility?” A little more laughter. “Yes, I do. It is not in excellent shape, but it is functional. I have hidden it, though, and am now using one of your dominant species’ ...’cars’ in its stead. I do not wish to have it taken from me again.”

“Very understandable,” says Alice. The Spartan looks at her. 

“You are not a human,” it says.

“No, I am a doorstop cat,” she says. 

“But you are... is there a word, Pillow Central, for your condition as living when inorganic?” 

“Awakened,” he says. 

“Awakened,” repeats the Spartan. “Fascinating. What is the general purpose of a doorstop cat? I understand pillows are used by humans to rest their heads.”

“I was made to hold doors open,” Alice says. “My Beholden prefers to let me live on a window still as a decoration.”

The Spartan hums at her. “What strange creatures,” it says. It glances around the room, runs its pronged fingers against the bed sheets. “You are with humans now? The same ones as before? The ones I met?”

PC nods. “Davey is tall one, Alex is the one with the white streak, and Tulip is one with her hair up.”

The Spartan nods. “I will remember this,” it says. A pause. “What are you doing here, in this ‘hotel’? I thought you were attempting to stop the Elders.”

“We found the Psi Gate— er, the doorway into their base,” PC explains, “but it’s in the middle of a Psionic cult. They took the humans hostage, tried to pry Eylion from me...we’re trying to figure out how to get back in there to the Gate.” He hesitates. “There’s probably gonna be some blood.”

“I see. Would you like help?”

“Are you offering?”

“I have a few weapons your humans might find useful,” it says.

“It’ll have to be a group decision on if you come with us, but my vote is sure and please.” 

“Excellent. We will wait for them to return, then.”

As so they do. PC explains various things to the Spartan about humanity, about stuffed society, Awakening and XCOM, anything it has questions about to pass the time. Alice helps, interjecting here and there. They’re in the middle of attempting to make the concept of the Internet coherent when the door opens again. 

Tulip enters, and yells, “Halo cosplayer alert!” Espeon jumps off her shoulder at the Spartan, yowling, only to get batted onto the bed by PC. 

“Be nice,” he says. “They’re a friend.”

“Master Chief is our friend?” she asks.

“What’s a master chief?” asks the Spartan. 

“What the hell are you guys talking abut?” says Davey as he comes in behind her, and then stands there blinking. “Oh. Okay. I guess this can’t get any weirder.”

Alex slides through the closing door, pulling it shut after them. They look between PC and the Spartan, the Spartan and PC. “You made a friend?” they ask.

“Everyone, if you remember, this is the Spartan who helped you rescue me earlier,” PC says. The Spartan gives a little hesitant wave at the humans. “It’s offering to help us get back into the campus. It has weapons to let you guys borrow if you want.”

“Well,” says Tulip, “I already have a alien weapon, but I’m not opposed to more.”

“Sounds better then a baseball bat,” says Davey. “I’d like to see the stuff at least.” Alex nods in agreement as they sit on the edge of the bed. 

“That seems like a consensus of yes to me,” says Alice. 

“Just about weapons, not about them going with us,” says PC.

“They want to go with us?” Davey asks.

“I offered,” says the Spartan.

“You’re one weird dude,” says Tulip. “I respect that immensely. Go forth and prosper, or whatever Halo people say.”

“That’s Star Trek,” says Espeon. 

“I think if they want to come, that they should,” says Alex. “I’d feel better with more people.”

“It’ll be harder to be sneaky with more people,” says Tulip.

“We’ll just XCOM conga line somewhere safe and then you’ll all wait for me to come back with the girl, and we’ll work from there,” says Espeon. “Very simple sneak tactics.”

“So I am allowed?” says the Spartan.

“I mean, we probably can’t stop you,” says Davey. “So welcome to the team.”


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

They manage to finagle Awakening into working again for the humans like it did before; PC stands with them in the hotel bathroom the next evening and watches them whisper as their reflections change— Davey shorter and with a mullet, Alex feminine and long haired, Tulip masculine and buzz cut. His reflection changes too, and he is grateful. 

They look at the weapons the Spartan has brought; another small alien firearm, which is given to Alex, and a plasma sword, which is strapped to PC’s back. The Spartan itself carries a larger gun. 

He holds Espeon and Alice close on his lap as they drive (the vehicle has changed too but that matters a lot less, they’re parking farther away and walking into the campus), notes how Tulip and Alex hold their guns just as tightly, how Davey has one hand on the top of his baseball bat. The Spartan tails them in its own car, and they park in the grass beside the road about a fifteen minute walk from the campus. They group up and hurry into the mass of wooded area that surrounds it; approaching the side seems better then coming head on, after all. 

They emerge near the barn and Espeon dashes away, body low to the ground and looking all for the world like a real cat in the growing dark. The rest of them huddle inside, in one of the empty stables, bodies tense and weapons clenched in white knuckled hands. PC hovers near the door, opens it ever so often to check for Espeon, and they wait as the sun disappears and the glow of light leaves the sky. 

Hours pass. PC feels anxiety building in his stomach, despite Alice’s reassurances. The humans amuse themselves (and the Spartan) with quietly said word games and riddles and stories, but as the night goes on, the facade of ease lessens and fear creeps into their voices; they speak less, stare with wide eyes more, and Alice does not try to reassure anymore. She is tense too.

Then, it must be just past midnight- PC’s vision pings, Eylion lighting up Espeon’s form and the form of the young human that follows her; the human is holding something in her arms, against her chest. 

PC ushers both into the barn quickly, quickly into the stable, ducking down amongst the hay. The girl looks around at the other humans, wrings her hands as she passes the single gun she has brought to PC. “You are very brave,” she says.

“Or maybe really stupid,” says Davey. 

“Not as brave as you,” says Alice. She stares at the doorstop cat, and then shakes her head. PC thanks her for the gun.

“They will not notice until it is too late,” she says. A pause. “This one told me what you want,” she adds, pointing at Espeon as the latter climbs into Davey’s shoulder. Her gaze lifts, seems to go through the walls. “You are going into the Great Revered Emissary’s room?”

A chorus of nodding. She grimaces. “You cannot get in through the front door,” she says. 

“It’s Psionically locked, right?” PC says, remembering. She nods at him.

“Yes, but there is another way.” She gets to her feet, and the others rise too. PC awkwardly fumbles with the gun as he stands, stills for a moment and lets memories of not real never was guide his hands into the proper places. 

The group follows Sam across the campus into the Welcome Center, creeping low against the walls and holding their breath every so often to listen listen listen. The girl leads them back down into the basement, where most of the people are sleeping.

PC brings the group to a stop, takes the lock of the nearest cell in his hand. “What about them?” he asks.

“I will stay behind,” says Sam. “I will free them. You must go. There is a door.”

PC returns both hands to the gun, moves forward. It looks like solid wall, but then a ping in his head, and a slight depression is highlighted— he pushes against it with his shoulder, and the wall panel slides open, revealing a tunnel. 

“Secret tunnel,” mumbles Tulip as she steps in time behind him. The others file in after, and Sam slides the panel shut when they’ve gotten a few paces down the tunnel, plunging them into darkness. 

“This is no time for Avatar references,” says Alice, half muffled by the pocket.

Espeon scoffs as she ignites a glow about her gem, bathing them all in soft purple light. “It’s always time for Avatar references,” she says, and jumps down to be obnoxiously about PC’s feet.

“What is Avatar?” asks the Spartan. “You cannot be talking about the Elders’ project; it is too early here for that.”

Espeon and Tulip eagerly begin to explain ATLA to the Spartan in dramatic whispers; Davey attempts to shush them, which makes them whisper more; PC shakes his head with a laugh. 

The tunnel goes on, taking turns but never branching into more then one pathway. Every so often they stop, quiet, and listen listen listen. It must be about 1:30 am when they reach the end of tunnel, and PC gingerly reaches up, finds a small folding ladder attached to the top of the low ceiling-trapdoor. He pulls it down, and steps up, pushing the door open just enough for Espeon to poke her head through.

“Where do we end up?” he asks her. 

“Looks like a closet,” she says back, and wiggles through the small space. She is gone for a few heartbeats, and then returns. “The bedroom connected is empty,” she says. “Looks like this Emissary ain’t asleep yet.”

“Can you sense it? It’d have a really big Psionic footprint,” PC says.

Espeon hums. “I sense something,” she says, “but not in this building. Well, there is something but it feels dormant.”

“Must be the Psi Gate,” he says, and lifts the trap door open fully, gun tucked under his arm. The others clamber out behind him, weapons tense in their hands, but as PC passes through the bedroom (simple, a bed, a dresser, a painting of a Elder in the same vein as the statues he remembers but doesn’t), there is no confrontation. They join Espeon outside the room, and the humans pause to take in the Psi Gate.

“Alright,” says Tulip, “we’re here. Now what?”

“We wait for the Emissary to come back,” says PC in a low voice. “I think we probably have to kill them. Then we deal with the rest of them. I’m hoping taking the head of them out first makes that second part a lot easier, though.”

“Where should we wait? There’s not much to hide behind out here,” Davey says, looking back and forth across the otherwise empty room. 

“Back behind this door,” PC says, stepping back inside of the bed. The others hurry back in, Espeon the last, and PC shuts the door not all the way to where it’s closed, but looks the part. He looks down at the gun in his hands, somewhat reminiscent of the one from not reality never was, and hopes he can use it well. 

He looks at Davey, who curls and unfurls his fingers about his baseball bat handle; at Alex, who studies their borrowed firearm intensely; at Tulip, fingers tight around her firearm’s handle; at the Spartan, stock still and weapon up at chest level; at Espeon, who’s gem glow is dimmer now, who’s ears twitch every so often. Alice goes and hides back inside the trapdoor, excusing herself from having to watch the oncoming battle. “I’ll go check on Sam,” she says, but he knows she means “I cannot bear to watch you fight. I cannot bear to see you lose.”

But they won’t lose. 

(Right? They won’t lose?)

When the Emissary stalks in, the moon high in the sky behind them briefly as they open and close the front door, the humans look at each other as the footsteps grow closer. 

“Now?” whispers Tulip.

“Or never,” answers PC, kicking the door open; his gunfire melds with the psionic beams and plasma bolts that volley out after. The Emissary screams as bullets connect, as their form is staggered back a few paces by the assault, and the fight is on.


	30. Chapter Thirty

PC darts across the room to kneel in the half cover of the Psi Gate; Alex follows his lead. Still half back behind the door Tulip fires her gun once twice three times, and the Spartan charges the Emissary, lasers emitting from its weapon as it rushes them; a smell of smoke and burnt flesh rises, and PC feels confidence, or maybe just bile, in his throat. 

He aims, tries to quell the slight shake to his hands. The Emissary keeps moving, moving, throwing Null Lances and shielding themselves from the bullets. They make a show of rearing back, a dramatic hand flare, and swirling purple smoke rises and whirls around the humans in the back ground. 

PC knows what that is. “Move!” he yells at them. “Get out of the circle, away from it! It’s going to explo—“ 

He’s cut off as Alex rolls into him while avoiding a beam of Psionic energy from the Emissary, ends up bowled over. They apologize, rocketing to their feet and firing quick laser bolts back at their assailant, missing all but one. 

He staggers up, glances back toward the back room; the humans and Espeon have vacated the area, are running toward the opposite end of the building. The Emissary fires quick bursts of Psionic energy at them; one catches Tulip in the leg, and she screams as she falls. The Spartan jumps in front of her, one hand firing off lasers at the Emissary, none of which hit but occupy its concentration; the other hand loosens something from its belt and hands it to her as she crawls to Davey and the others. 

While they’re distracted, PC pulls the plasma sword from his back and approaches the Emissary from behind. He swings, remembers not real never was as he does, and is satisfied when he catches the side of the other’s arm. There is a burning smell, and suddenly, a lot more blood on the floor. 

The Emissary looks at him and screams inhuman, hands flickering purple as they charge, only to be knocked back by a blast from Alex, who follows up on their Psionic attack with quick shots from their laser pistol. Most of them miss, most of them are unsteady, go through the walls instead of their target, but he’s grateful anyway. 

There is a sucking in of air noise, and the whirling Psionic clouds back near the bedroom fold into each other before exploding back with a loud clap. The humans cover their ears; the Spartan winces. Espeon, however, seems unaffected, and throws a Psionic ball at the Emissary, knocking them off balance. 

PC takes the moment to come up on them again, but before he can bring the down swing of the sword, the Emissary shoots up a hand- Psionic force pushes him back, makes him stumble, gives the Emissary time to get to their feet. Davey and Espeon are busy with helping Tulip, Alex is pressed against the wall panting. 

The Emissary raises a hand, and PC expects another Dimensional Rift. But then he sees threads, just for a moment, glowing and extending outward—

“Oh, shit,” he says, as Davey drops the syringe the Spartan gave him and instead glowers with gleaming purple eyes at the Spartan, as Tulip struggles to sit up and grabs Espeon by the throat. 

He’s diving across the floor at Tulip before he really registers he’s moved, knocking Espeon from her grasp. Davey jumps on top of him a moment after, gets his hands about the sword’s hilt; they struggle for a moment, a whirlwind of limbs and pulling. The human rises with the weapon, moves to stab PC through the chest— 

Alex brings the side of their laser pistol hard across the side of his head, and he drops the sword in shock as he reels, bleeding and bruised there now, and turns to face her. PC scrambles to grab the dropped weapon, avoids Tulip’s grasping hands as she manages to stand on her injured leg. 

Espeon howls, dances past the humans and leaps at the Emissary. She lands on his clothes, Awakened claws clutching to robes as she scales their form and jumps at their face. They stumble blindly as she mauls at their eyes; the Spartan takes his time to pump a few more laser shots into the Emissary. 

The floor is slick with blood now, and PC can see the humans sweating. There’s the smell of burning flesh, of smoke, of plasma in the air. He hikes up his gun again and fires at the Emissary, who is slowing now; it calls up a mass of Psionic energy and shoots it as two separate waves, at him and the Spartan. PC is blown over his own feet, and the room tumble white and white and white; his gun falls, goes off; he hears the plasma blade skree against the tile floor as he lands on his backside. 

As he hefts himself to his feet he sees Alex sneak behind the Emissary, jump up, and get their arms around their neck. The Emissary claws at them with Psionic fingertips, and he sees them shred the human’s skin so easily, sheds them so easily as they let go, audibly crying as the wounds let bone meet air. 

He’s running across the room to them, avoiding the laser fire of the Spartan as it shoots at the Emissary, when mind controlled Tulip lands a shot through his clothes and right through where his sense of self says his head is. He collapses, phantom sense of blood, sense of burning, and then Elyion reminding him that is not really your center of processing, get up! Get up!

He gets somewhat woozily to his feet, blinks red and black and green from his vision. For a moment the building is not, the building is the burning, firey communications deck, and he is concussed from a fire extinguisher to the head. He blinks hard, shakes himself, and is about to move when something hits him hard in the approximation of the ribs and sends him to the floor again.

He wildly flips around so that he is stomach up, one hand reaching for his sword; Davey, irises purple, is studying him, but only just. When PC raises the sword, he swings the bat at it— the plasma cuts the wood clean in two. Davey’s brow furrows, and he frowns. 

PC tears his eyes from the human, tries to figure out how the others are faring. The Spartan is hand to hand combatting the Emissary, has it against the wall, is taking its frenzied Psionic clawing rather well. Alex has reached the syringe that Davey dropped early, stabs it twice at where their wrists are shredded— he sees the wounds begin to close. Espeon is engaging Tulip, narrowly dodging laser fire while yelling at her to ‘snap out of it!” 

His attention is brought back to Davey; the human has PC’s gun now, and in one swift motion a series of bullets goes through his chest. PC wheezes, automatically putting hands to the wounds where there should be blood where is the blood. Davey frowns again. 

He hears a loud shout of pain from the Spartan, the clattering of armor hitting the floor, and hurriedly spins up a beam of Psionic energy.

Can you do the wave thing? he asks Eylion. 

I can try.

He finds he holds out his palms toward Davey, and then toward Tulip; small Psionic energy bursts crest across the time and knock the humans back, knocks them to the floor. In the few moments he has he grabs the sword from his back and rushes the Emissary, dutifully noting the prone form of the Spartan that is trying to hard to get up, gather its weapon. 

“They will die for no cause,” the Emissary says, side stepping PC, who turns on his heels and dives at them again. 

“Fuck you!” yells Alex, and a laser bolt lands square in the Emissary’s chest. PC swings his sword— 

There is a moment of quiet as the plasma cuts through robe and skin and muscle. In the moment the blade finishes passes through, a hundred Psionic threads gleam about the Emissary’s head and then shatter. 

Blood coats PC, drenches him in it, along with what he thinks must be stomach acid; the now severed body lies still on the tile floor, blood pooling about PC’s feet. He feels like he’s going to puke, shakes his head, tries to breathe normally. 

“You just sushi’d them real good, didn’t you,” says Espeon. “Like a little fish snack. Slice.” 

‘That’s- that’s how swords work, right?’ he says. He feels lightheaded. There is so much blood. 

(He’s not squeamish, but Jesus Christ that’s a lot of blood. And there’s a couple of... organs, he thinks. He’s not a human anatomy expert, he just knows those shouldn’t be on the outside.)

The processing part of whatever constitutes his brain decides to start dry heaving at the gore. Which he supposes is a standard reaction, given that he can’t actually throw up at all.

Through his own haggard breaths he hears Tulip gasp, hears a weapon hit the floor. He looks back. Davey stands still for a moment, shaking his head, and then hesitantly goes to help the Spartan to its feet. Alex and Espeon and Alice join PC in staring at the body of the Great Revered Emissary. 

He looks past them; Tulip and Davey exchange dazed looks at both the body and the Spartan that leans on them as they join the small group around the GRE. 

A ripple in the space above the body; PC raises his sword, Tulip and Alex hold up their pistols, Davey fumbles with PC’s gun. The Elder that stares at them does not speak at first. PC wonders if it is shocked.

Then: “You only hasten our hand.”

It vanishes. The Spartan snorts, somewhere beneath its heavy breathing. PC motions for it to come to him, for Alex and Tulip too, and gingerly he places hands on them all. 

Eylion, he asks, Eylion, can you—?

I can.

A green glow envelopes his hands, and then green emits from the wounds, from the armor, and they stand there quietly for a few moments, PC beginning to pant softly on Eylion’s behalf. “I’m sorry,” it says through him. “I am not used to this, so I cannot do much.” It removes his hands; the wounds of the humans are now lightly scabbed over. The Spartan breathes easier. 

The front door of the building opens. Sam stands in the moonlight, a adult woman behind her, and behind them a small crowd which pushes through the door and begins to clamor- not in anger, but in surprise, shock, horror, fear. 

“We’ll explain,” PC yells over the din. “We’ll explain everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy thanksgiving .. as of today, we’re about 10 chapters from the end of this, give or take .. hope you’ll stick with it til the end of the ride


	31. Chapter Thirty One

All things considered, the explanations go well. The patients are rightfully horrified and hurt at the betrayal of their trust, the doctors mortified at the treatments they’ve given under orders, the children wishing to be reunited with parents and the parents wishing to be reunited with children. They seem to take the existence of a name for their condition, the real name, decently too; he is adamant in trying to impose how important it is they don’t like the government know, that they keep it quiet and only amongst themselves. 

After that, when other people took up the mantle of talk, PC isn’t entirely sure what happened; he’s tired and starting to see double when things finally wrap up and he is allowed to drag himself into one of the nicer rooms of the welcome center (with the humans in adjacent rooms) and collapse into the bed. 

He sleeps heavily, and in the morning he sits still as Sam appears and again peels back his clothes to sew up the bullet wounds in his chest and back and about his head. She hums as she works, gently pulling thread along to neatly sew on patches of cloth that match the colors of his printed self well enough. When she is done, she tells him there is breakfast to be had, and talking to be done. 

He comes down the stairs and is ushered in by some older women into a large room where some middle aged men are cooking in a corner kitchen. Tables have been laid out, and they’re packed— nurses, children, older people. PC scans the tables for his friends, spots Espeon sitting on Davey’s head. 

He’s greeted rather cheerfully by the humans, despite the bandages on Davey’s head and Alex’s lower arms, and the fact Tulip is absent. He sits, and Alex places Alice into his lap. She presses against him, and he is surprised to feel her shaking.

“I suppose,” she says, and she sounds so sad and afraid he wishes he could deny what she is about to say, “that you will be doing that all again when you fight the Elders?”

“Probably,” he says. 

She makes a keening noise and presses her face against him harder. He gently strokes the back of her head. A man with silvery hair has come to the front of the room, is holding a microphone. 

“We’ve found a phone for folks to use to call relatives,” he says. “Using the records the nurses have, we’ll go alphabetically. Anybody who has to stay overnight while waiting for pick up will be in the Welcome Center suites.” 

Questions: “If we have a car, can we just leave?” “What about the police?” “Did you guys find where they’re keeping everyone’s personal belongings yet?”

The silver haired man answers in turn: “It seems like most of the parking lot was cleared; if you had a car, I’m afraid the damn cult leader mighta sold it for cash. Same with your keys and personal items.”

A grumble runs through the crowd. The man goes on. “If you somehow do still have your keys, and your cars in the lot, check in with Jonsey” - a dark haired woman serving eggs waves her hands at her name “-before you go. We want statements and experiences to give to the police, and we’ll contact you again when they start their investigation.”

As people eat, they begin to file out, either back to rooms or out into the parking lot hopeful that their vehicle might have been spared. PC watches as the humans swallow eggs and bacon, is once again jealous of his half existence. He has always wondered what bacon tastes like...

“Where’s the Spartan?” he asks, instead of dwelling too much on that. “Where’s Tulip?”

“Think it went and spent the night back in its truck,” Espeon says. “People wouldn’t stop trying to take its armor off. They wanted to help, I think it just got scared.” 

“Tulip is still being treated for her leg wound by folks who volunteered,” Davey says. He gingerly taps the side of his head. “I guess it takes a lot more psionic power to heal something like hers.” Alex nods at this, rubs at their bandaged wrists. 

“I’ll go get the Spartan, if you’ll go get Tulip, and let’s meet back at the Psi Gate once you all finish your food,” PC says, and stands; Espeon jumps from one head to another until she’s clambering up PC’s arm to sit on his shoulder. 

“Not without me,” she says, and he laughs. “Of course not.”

It’s misting slightly as he walks alongside the road toward Davey’s car and the Spartan’s truck. He tucks Alice and Espeon into the hoodie pocket, with their heads sticking out to see. As they walk, Espeon regales the battle to Alice, PC content to let her remember and retell, with only a few interjections on his part. 

They reach the truck. PC raps his knuckles against the dark tinted window, and after a moment, it rolls down slightly. Then it raises back up, and the door opens. PC backs up a step as the Spartan gets out. 

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I have been better,” says the Spartan; PC glances over it and notes discolored scratch marks. “But I am alive. And so are you and your humans. One of the Elders is dead. And that is enough for me.”

“We’re going to try and figure out the Psi Gate,” PC says. 

“A intriguing piece,” the Spartan says as it falls in step with him. “What did you say it does, again?”

“It’s a portal to the Elder’s base on Earth,” he says. “Or, well, it was in the game. I guess we really don’t know where it leads for sure in reality.”

“Right, right, to humanity the Elders were fictional,” says the Spartan. “How in the game did you make it work?”

“Well, they moved it from its place in wild first,” says PC. “Then they turned it on... somehow. Tested going through with a robot, which ended up poorly and informed them they needed a organic key to pass through. That key ended up being the game’s Commander, which is a little heavy handed, but I’m not a game developer or a writer so I shouldn’t cast much doubt on it...”

“You know that’s as cheap as the little dragonball z fight was, don’t lie,” says Espeon. 

“Again, I’m not a writer, so I can’t say much on if it’s cheap or not,” he says, but he’s smiling. 

“Is there a commander in reality?” asks the Spartan.

“I mean, there wasn’t a xcom, so I don’t think so,” PC says. “But I would have said that about a non-Elder Ethereal too, if I hadn’t been lucky enough to end up its bonded. So, maybe?”

“Hmm,” says the Spartan. They’ve reached the campus and made their way back to the Psi Gate building. The door has been removed, and inside he can see already see the forms of Davey, Alex, and Tulip. When he approaches, he sees Alex has spooled up a Psionic ball and is gingerly pushing it into the inactivated space of the Psi Gate.

It fizzles out when they release it, and by the au they slump their shoulders, this isn’t the outcome they wanted; they shrug at the others. “Worth a try,” they say. “Any other ideas?”

“Stab it with the protojacks?” says Tulip, from where she leans against the wall and keeps weight off her wrapped up leg. 

“That doesn’t make much sense,” says Alice, making the three turn heads. 

“Oh, Halo friend is here,” says Davey. “Hey again.”

“Hello,” says the Spartan. 

“What haven’t we tried?” asks PC.

“Well, just flicking psionics at it doesn’t seem to work,” says Alex, sniffling around some blood as it comes trickling out of their nose. “Maybe it needs a power source?”

“Like what? An engine?”

“If it is power you need,” says the Spartan, “give me time, and I could take my conduit from my ship and we can use it here.”

“You would be willing to do that?” PC asks.

“As long as I get it back at the end, yes,” it says. 

“Well,” says Davey, “it’s something to try.”

“Very well,” says the Spartan. “If you don’t mind my saying, I recommend you practice your weapon abilities while I am gone. You will need to hit your targets more times in the next battle if you want to win.” 

“So basically get good,” says Espeon, laughing. “Basically don’t be a xcom rookie.”

“Dully noted,” says Alex. 

“In the meantime,” says PC, “we’ll keep trying other things. Maybe we could pass the Outsider Shard through it?”

“Good idea,” says Alice. “Wasn’t it activated by the codex brain in game? Since the Shard has served a similar purpose...” 

“I don’t really think the game ever showed how it got turned on,” PC says. “And I don’t remember that detail. Sorry.” 

“Still,” says Alex, “it’s something to try. I’ll go get it now.” And they’re off and running before anyone can say otherwise. The Spartan snorts amusedly. 

“Let us see if this works,” it says. “If not, I go. If it does...” it hesitates. “What will you do if it works?”

“We can’t go through it even if we turn it l. way,” Davey says. “Remember what happens to ROV-R?” 

PC winces. “I guess we’ll figure that part out when we get to it,” he says after a moment. “I can’t imagine what they’d make the biological key if not the commander.”

“Do we still have any of the GRE’s body left?” asks Davey.

“Yeah,” says Tulip. “In the freezer.”

“We could try to put him through the Gate,” says Alice. “At the very least we’ll know if it reacts badly to things like the one in the game does.”

“Better then asking one of us to poke our hands through it,” Davey says. 

“I’ll go get him then,” says Davey, and jogs off toward the Welcome Center. PC frowns at the Psi Gate.

“Is there anyway to force your way though?” asks the Spartan.

“In the game, on the return trip, the commander forced the gate to remain open so their soldiers could escape,” PC says. “I guess... maybe the reverse could happen. Force it open long enough for others to get inside. I guess we’ll just have to see.”


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

Alex and Davey return as quickly as they left, the former carrying the black case containing the Outsider Shard, the latter lugging a cooler behind them. They park the cooler next to the Gate and the group watches, a few meters back from the Gate, as Alex sets the case down and takes out the Shard. 

“You want to do it,” asks PC, “or should I?”

Alex looks at the Shard, at the Gate, grimaces, and hands it off to him. Espeon jumps down, Alice teetering on her back, to join the group in standing a bit away as PC steps up to the Gate. He takes a deep breath.

What if it works? Eylion’s voice.

I’m not sure, he says. I don’t think it’ll notify the Elders, but I also wouldn’t put past them to have some kind of ... alarm, or something. 

I am watchful, it says, and he feels something where a stomach should be heat with Psionic potential. I will be ready. 

“Here goes nothing,” PC says, and gingerly reaches a hand holding the Shard into the empty space of the Psi Gate. 

For a moment nothing happens, and continues to not happen, and PC is about to withdraw his hand and sigh when the Shard sparks light inside of it, and there is a pulsing about the rim of the Psi Gate. Alex visibly cringes, blood gushing anew from their nose. 

“I think you’ve got something there,” they say thickly as the pulsing of the Gate gets stronger, faster, until a bright white flash emits from the Shard, PC wrenching his head away from the flare but managing to keep the Shard in place. The Gate’s rim has stopped pulsing, the inner part of the circular shapes a bright purple now, and all at once they flicker and psionic energy crackles across the empty air between—

“Whoa, are you guys seeing that?” Tulip’s voice, half muffled by the new loud hum that comes from the Gate, steady and deep. PC blinks the light spots from his vision, and sees what she means- it’s a clear image into what he can only assume is the alien base. Half built structures and empty rooms inside glass paneling to keep out the water; PC doesn’t seem much in the way of things he recognizes, but he thinks that’ll change when they actually get in there. 

“I guess it’s working,” says Alice, who’s come up to PC’s feet and peers into the Gate. “They must know the door is open, even without some tripwire or trap.”

PC waits, hands shaking slightly around the Shard that hums alongside the Gate, but there is no Elder appearing to chide them, there is no wave of Psionic energy or Dragonball Z type laser. Just the empty base and its empty metal floors, faint flickers of aquatic life passing the glass walls. He cannot see the Elder’s sarcophagi from here, which he supposes makes sense; they are in the last room in the game, that must apply here as well. 

PC pulls the Shard back, the light emitting from it dims, and the image between the rims collapses on itself as the inner of the circular almost ring fades to dark. He blinks, looks to his friends.

“Guess we don’t need your ship engine after all,” says Espeon.

“Wait, like you’re serious about having a ship?” says Davey. “Are you... actually not a person?”

“I thought this was obvious; no, I am not of your planet,” the Spartan says. “That is not a matter of concern at the moment.”

Davey looks like he’s going to argue, to Espeon climbs up his body like a tree and settles onto his shoulder, where a Awakened tail gently settles itself against his mouth. “You’re doing the human thing of getting distracted,” she says to him.

Alice shakes her head at them, and looks up from her place at PC’s feet at the Outsider Shard. “Someone will have to stay behind to hold it up,” she says. “I will do this, or perhaps Sam will.” 

“We’re not going now, are we?” asks Tulip, sounding incredulous. 

“Oh, no, no,” says Alice, matter of fact. “You are nowhere near ready, I think. The Spartan speaks truth in that you need to practice. But I’m sure between them and PC you’ll be able to learn and prepare sufficiently.” 

The Spartan’s visor flashes. “I can help those with firearms learn to weld them properly,” it says. It looks toward Pillow Central. “You seem to possess ability in melee combat. You teach that one-“ it points at Davey- “how to best make use of it.”

“We can probably go over Psionic stuff too,” PC says, nodding at Alex. “I can try to teach you the things I’ve picked up.”

“What about mind control?” asks Tulip, and PC hears Davey inhale sharply. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits, “but we can workshop ideas. We have time, I think, it’s not like—“

As soon as the words leave his mouth, the Gate hums to life again; the humans scramble back, behind the Spartan, Alice running with them and ducking behind their legs. PC stands frozen as the Gate powers back up and the image of the alien base appears once more, only this time obscured by a humanoid body with a palm outstretched to them. 

“AVATAR,” he mumbles. Or something similar? How can they have Avatars now? There’s been no invasion, so no blacksites, no gene processing—

He feels Eylion prod at the being in the middle of the Gate, and hears it snort. It is not a Psionic being itself, says the Ethereal. It is only a husk. A crude imitation. A robot. There is nothing human or genetic at all. They simply sit in it; killing it would not kill them— it is not like the one within the GRE, or like the Avatars of the game. They haven’t gotten there. 

The being stares at them from beneath a purple visor about its face. PC stares back.

The being speaks: “What naive bravery,” it says. “We almost find it endearing.”

Eylion spits at the being’s feet. It raises its other hand from its side, and a Psionic grasp grabs PC by the collar and pulls him, he feels the ripple of the portal as he is brought through, and suddenly he is inches away from the proto-Avatar, on the other side of the Gate, feet dangling above the ground as it clenches his shirt in its Psionic fist. Panic raises in his chest, and he struggles, kicking and twisting. The Elder, because that is what this is under mechanical hood, watches. 

“You are but a child,” it says, “both in host and self. We pity you. You could have been something far greater. This world, yet, has that possibility still.” It looms over them, and PC chokes because the grasp has moved to his mind mapped throat, because the looming is too much like how the GRE’s servant did, chokes because he is back in that small space, back on fire, chokes—

“You would do better to walk with us,” it says. “You have redemption possible yet.”

Eylion manages to spit on its visor, pure Psionic in form, and the tiny Psionic glob crackles and dies as it hits the glass.

The Elder shakes the head of its proto-Avatar, and tosses him roughly back through the portal onto the hard floor of the Psi Gate housing. He lands on his stomach and rolls for second, gasping and flailing because some part of him is back on fire, he’s on fire, and then there is Alex helping him to his feet and asking what happened, Alice being pressed into his hands—

“Deep breaths,” she says.

He breathes. She coaxes him through a quick grounding exercise - what do you see hear touch - and by the end, he is steady again. He explains what happened to the group, and they listen in rapt attention. 

“I don’t know if they’ve got other aliens in there too,” he finishes, “but I think we’ve got a lot of training ahead of us to do. And to do fast. We’re reaching the end of the proverbial rope here with time before they finally call in the invasion, I think. I’m terrified I just sealed its happening, and when I say happening I mean soon.”


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

They don’t have time.

The thought permeates his entire being, dogs his every step. 

Every moment spent on this side of the Gate, as he passes the plasma sword to Davey and shows the man the proper handholds, as the Spartan teaches them the basics of firearms, as he and Alex practice Psionic attacks and defense— every moment, he thinks, every moment the Elders are not dead is a moment closer to the end we’ve tried so hard to prevent. 

They will never be ready, he realizes one evening during practice a week later, gun going limp in his hands. They are not XCOM. And even if they were they’re just humans. And they’re so few...

The Spartan comes over to him, a hum noise expressing concern. “Are you alright?”

“Just worried,” he says, and it’s a statement he’s made over and over. The Spartan gently takes him by the wrist and pulls him into hefting the gun back into proper position.

“Then practice,” it says, gesturing at the targets on the far end of the clearing they train in, already scorch marked from the humans, who talk and laugh above the firing of their weapons. “The life of this planet depends on it.”

The words do not make the icy cold fear settling in his approximation of a stomach any better. He looks toward Alice and Espeon, who sit on a chair a few paces behind him; Espeon wags her tail at him, Alice smiles, and his heart hurts.

The Spartan has left his side, is critiquing the humans again. PC finds his hands are shaking, and when he manages to get them to stop and begins to engage the targets, his gunshots are unsteady, blazing off into the trees. 

Elyion’s quiet voice in his head: you are right to be afraid, I think. I am afraid too. 

What if we can’t do this? What if we’re leading them to death? All of them? All of earth?

Then we die, but at least we will know we have tried. I think trying is the only thing we can do.

PC’s breath catches.

Where did you learn that phrase? 

In your head, it says. It’s something your Beholden says. I thought maybe since they would say it, if I said it, you might feel better.

He steadies the shake of his hands again, fires- this time, he meets his target, barely.

“I just wish things were different,” he says out loud. “That we had better chances. That it didn’t feel like the things that weren’t real and never were are gonna become real.”

A sense of a internal hug. Alice would say that you are thinking in worst case scenario, and to think instead think in most case. 

“I know, I know,” he says, and smiles a little. “Most case is we get hurt, but so do they, and maybe we force them dormant if we don’t kill them then. Dormancy would be better then activity, at least.”

Exactly. Whatever happens, it is unlikely to be the extreme case you so fear. 

“I want to believe you, I do, I just... worry.” He fires again, and this time, it’s a clean straight through shot. 

I know you worry. I can hear it, constantly running in the back of your mind. I wish I could make it easier.

“The reminders help,” he says. “Thank you.”

We will win, says Elyion. It just might not look like what you thought. 

When practice ends, a half an hour later, PC finds himself excusing from the makeshift dining table in the Welcome Center and then alone in the Psi Gate housing. He sits awkwardly in front of the Gate, stares at it, and remains like this until he is jerked from thought by footsteps.

Alex stands in the doorway, and after a moment, comes and joins him on the titles floor.

“Alice wanted me to check on you,” they say.

“I’m okay,” he says, although he doesn’t really feel the word that much.

Alex traces the curvature of the Psi Gate with their eyes. “Alice says it’s ok to be scared,” they say. “That she’s scared and she isn’t even going into the fighting.”

“I don’t want them to kill you,” he says. “I don’t want to have brought you all this way just to have them kill you.”

“But if we don’t go,” Alex says, “who will?”

The Beholden’s voice, suddenly, inside his head echoing from his core: if not now, when? if not us, who?

He takes a breath, finds it wavers. Alex raises a hand toward his shoulder, and he leans into their touch. They sit, the gentle breath of the leaves rustling outside in the wind the only noise. 

“Do you blame them? Blame us?” he asks suddenly. “For your psionics manifesting? For being part of this whole save the world thing?” 

Alex blinks, and then smiles. “I know if I hadn’t gone to that house with you guys things wouldn’t be like this, I’d be somewhere else- someone else entirely, but I don’t want to be that person. The Psionics are weird, but I’m happy they’re here. I’m happy I’m here. I want to do this.”

“Even though you might die?”

“Someone has to do something,” they say. “It might as well be somebody with space magic instead of somebody without, right?”

PC turns and hugs them then, tightly, deeply, finds he’s doing the body pillow approximation of crying a little. “Everyone says it’ll be alright,” he manages muffled into their shoulder. “What do you think?”

“I think they’re probably right,” they say as they return the hug, patting him on the back. “We’ll just have to go and see.”


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

They’ve been keeping an eye on things outside the campus, on the news and the half truths. Things are slowly ramping up. People disappearing, lights in the sky, stories passed off as eccentric but that PC recognizes as textbook from the false Enemy Within days. 

When the first real public landing happens, with pictures and speculation, too much for the government to cover up and too blatantly otherworldly to be seen as anything else, PC thinks it’s time. They don’t want to wait for terror missions to start. If they wait for that, then it’s far too late. They need to move now, he says, and everyone agrees.

The humans have over the weeks gathered up makeshift armor under the direction of PC (layers of clothes, leather jackets, soccer cleats), carry small dutifully assembled medkits on their waists, hold their weapons close as Alice approaches the Psi Gate with Outsider Shard in paw. She pauses, looks to PC.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “Now?”

He glances at the humans, who nod; at the Spartan, who nods as well. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Now.”

He sees her close her eyes for a moment, regular :3 mouth turning into one much sadder, and then she lifts the shard toward the empty space of the Psi Gate. The Shard sparks, the Gate awakens with a hum, and there is the strange underwater facility once again, now looking much more like it does in the game. 

“Ok,” he says, “after me, I guess.” 

“After you,” says Tulip, whose normally brave voice wavers slightly. 

“No,” says the Spartan, stepping up behind Alice, “after me.” And before anyone can complain or argue, it has stepped around the doorstop cat and through the Gate, taking a few paces forward before pausing and looking back at them. 

“Somebody wants to play leader,” says Espeon, nestled on PC’s shoulder. He does not answer, tightens his grip on his gun as he follows, hurriedly closing the distance between himself and the Spartan. The humans come after, steps slow and cautious as they gaze around the long room.

As he stands there looking, he feels Eylion pull at his self, and jump up — he can see in the same manner as one would in the game, and he’s grateful. Keep it like this unless I ask otherwise, he says to it.

Understood, says Eylion, and then is silent again. 

“I don’t get it,” says Tulip. “What kind of glass is that even?” She nods at the sides of the room, where fish pass by and give the feeling they’ve entered some kind of strange aquarium. 

“Unearthly,” says the Spartan. “Stronger then anything your planet has.”

“It must have been here for a while,” says Alex, sniffling around some blood. “The Psi Gate was, right?”

“In game, sure,” says PC, tailing the Spartan as it moves up into the room with the roof and generators, pressing himself against one of the walls. “It was just out in the wilderness...I don’t know if that’s the case here.”

He sees Alex freeze, feels imaginary hair on an imaginary neck stand up as a voice rings out across the room in answer: “We have been here longer then you have been Awake. Our mechanisms outdate you, outdate your ‘game’.”

“Ah,” PC says, moving to the other side of the doorway of the generator area to mirror the Spartan, “so you’re just as chatty here as you are in Leviathan.”

“And you are as stubbornly unheeding as those who’ve listened to the fictional versions of us,” says the Elder. It sounds almost amused. “They got much of our thinking right in your game. But we are ever more merciful then even that.”

“Sure you are,” says Davey, a few paces away from PC now, behind a generator. Alex and Tulip take up positions across from him, behind support beams. 

“We could have taken your world at any moment,” the Elder continues. “But we have waited. And we have learned. And we are so very welcoming to compromise.”

“The only good compromise with you floaty fucks is a one where ya’ll are dead as hell,” Espeon says, jumping down from PC’s shoulder now to skitter into the next room. He calls softly after her, ‘be careful’, and the Elders laugh melodic.

“You intrigue us,” they say. “Little creature of fabric and polyfill... human creation that should not move or think or live and yet does. Something lower then even your makers and yet so arrogantly believing you can challenge what will come.”

A tsk noise. “Things can be different then the game, you know. We are kind and willing. Put down your weapons and come in peace.”

Espeon snorts from where she stalks ahead a few paces. “We’re not that stupid,” she says. 

“And yet you come here,” says the Elders; it sounds as if a different member is speaking now. “Why you, who do not even wear the armor of your militaries? You have no training and will die without anyone knowing of your efforts.” A pause. “And then you, ‘Spartan’, why do you not just go home? This planet and its people you have have no alliance to. Surely you are missed elsewhere.”

“I was helped,” it says. “I wish to return the favor.”

Haughty silence for a while. Then: “Of course we find humor in the actions of the unalive beings. You fight only because you believe your owners infallible. What can you do? Our weapons will destroy you the moment they are fired. Why did you not stay home and comfort, like you are made to do?”

“Someone has to do something,” PC says, and he tries not to let his voice shake. 

“Do you think that it must be you? Someone not even allowed to exist in whole?” There is another pause. “One of us remains in you. This deeply saddens us. You could do so much better. You could live so much longer. Come, Young one, there is much to be done.”

Eylion growls, but does not show itself. 

“We already killed your gatekeeper,” PC says. “I think that’s more then enough of an answer.”

“I suppose it is,” answers the Elder. “We may as well get this over with, in that case. It pains us, of course, but you leave us no choice.” 

There is a sudden swirl of psionic matter at the center of the next room Espeon has entered, the latter scrambling back until she’s at PC’s feet; the swirl condenses with a clap and at its center reveals a bright purple gash in reality from which three Mutons and two sectoids emerge.

“Oh, we’re really in it now,” Espeon says, firing off a Psybeam and killing one sectoid mid stride as it dashes for cover.

“Hostiles!” PC shouts as the Mutons charge at the doorway, and the relative quiet shatters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! This is last backlog chapter, so updates will be more sporadic from here on out...


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

The generators continue to run alongside the sides of the large room in parallel, with a greenlit control panel in the center where the aliens teleported in. Elerium power coils hum nearby, with a Muton taking cover behind one. 

The other two Mutons continue their charge forward, right into the laser blasts of Tulip and Alex’s weapon’s; the aliens roar, and hunker on opposite sides of the room inside the small half cover provided by the generators’ presence. 

The singular Sectoid hides at the control panel of the room, and fires at Espeon, who runs, ends of her tails singed as she narrowly dodges. She leads the still firing alien to shoot in the direction of one of the Elerium cores where the first Muton is taking cover, and takes cover of her own with a shout of ‘Duck!’ at the rest of the group as the laser connects with the power source. 

The explosion is not as big as the one back in the woods, with the broken larger core, but heat still rolls over them all, smoke fills the air, and the humans cough. PC desperately searches the smoke, searches searches—

“Man, those things are not sturdy!” 

He exhales loudly as Espeon appears, her head poking out of a small crawl space between one of the generator lines and the wall. 

The Spartan fires at the Muton who’d been using the core to hide— it is still on its feet, but bloodied and seems disoriented. It fires back, and PC instinctively lowers his body as the two trade gunfire. 

There is quiet for a moment, as the two reload, and in that moment PC hears Alex hum. He glances over; beneath their closed eyelid he sees the gleam of purple, and for a second a flicker of purple dances around the engaged Muton’s head. It drops its weapon and exposes its chest as it does. The Spartan takes that as a chance to come step a little closer, crouching beside a generator in a flank, and fire directly at its middle

The other Mutons roar as their comrade falls, one emerging from cover to come swinging fists at the Spartan; PC raises a hand and swings a wave of Psionic energy at it, catching it off balance and knocking it to the floor. He grabs his sword from his back and swings before the downed Muton can get up, and it stills under his blade, the smell of burnt flesh rising to mix with the smoke. 

The other Muton comes barreling at him, but Davey intervenes, firing into its side, blasting it across the floor to slump against the generators. The Sectoid, still crouched behind the control panel, takes this moment to begin to flee. 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” yells Espeon, and she clings a small ball of Psi energy from her mouth at the fleeing alien. It cries out as the attack connects, and then again softer, a death knee, as Tulip finishes it off with a near missed pistol shot. 

The Spartan gathers them on the edges of the room, and they peer into the next: crates, stacked in spots across the room, smaller power cores humming away. While this room they’re in seems more a power generator room, the next seems almost like a resource hub of some sort. 

PC glances up, at the glass ceiling, at the dark shapes of sea life that swim past. Nothing to say? he thinks at the Elders, half wondering if they can hear him, half hoping they cannot. 

“Is everyone alright?” he asks, giving once overs to each body in his sight. A chorus of head nodding and ‘yes’s answer him, and he wonders how they got through that so lucky, and if it’ll hold, this luck. 

Does luck exist? asks Eylion. 

I’m not sure, he answers. I guess this’ll show us of it does, since I think we’re gonna need a lot of it. To get through this with everyone in one piece, or even just mildly hurt, to actually do something... 

He looks to the Spartan, who is still studying the next room, but who begins to lead the way into the resource hub when it notices PC’s eyes on it. 

There is little you can do here but try your best, Eylion says. Focus back on the present. Worrying now will just get you hurt, or worse. 

PC supposes that’s as good advice as he’s going to get, and silently follows the Spartan and his friends into the next room.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

As they enter the resource hub, another purple gash in reality opens— it spits out 3 Floaters, two of which narrowly dodge Tulip’s quick gunfire, and 2 Chrysalids, who come skittering across the dark green floor at the group.

“Oh, god, are those bugs?” yells Davey.

“Not exactly,” says PC as raises an arm and pushes the aliens back with a wave of Psionic energy, giving time for Davey aim and fire at one of them. It stops short as the plasma connects, yellow blood spewing across the ground. 

“Seriously, what is that?” he asks.

“Did you not pay attention to the alien types? That’s a Chrysalid,” says Espeon.

“No, that’s a bug!”

It clicks at them, an inhuman sound, and rushes at Espeon, who leaps away from its coming down legs onto a series of boxes. 

“Yeah, but it’s also an alien! Hence alien bug!” 

“Is this really what surprises you?” asks the Spartan. 

One of the Floaters notices Espeon as she climbs to the top of the box stack, and PC barely has time to yell “Watch out!” before it fires. She dangerously teeters, avoiding the gunfire by a hair. 

The Chrysalid after her rams into the boxes, knocking them down as the Floater fires again, the plasma whizzing over her head. She struggles, swearing loudly, tail half caught by one of the boxes.

The Spartan engages the Chrysalid on top of her, bringing a foot down, shrugging off the plasma bolt the Floater sends into its shoulder. Davey fires, knocking the robot from the air; Tulip cheers him on, firing her own pistol and getting the attention of the second Chrysalid. 

The other two Floaters rush Alex, who ducks into an alcove against the wall of the resource hub, and then picks up a box, throwing it at the robots. The box knocks one of them down, and in that moment Espeon, finally freed, spits out a Psybeam at the remaining Floater. 

Tulip fires as the second chrysalid hesitates in choosing who to rush, and it collapses to the floor, blood pooling around it. The Spartan stomps on the first Chrysalid once more for good measure, and runs over to Alex, where it snatches the last Floater still engaging them out of the air and crushes the arms of the robot in its hands, even as it fires, dropping it to the floor after. 

The Spartan rubs its burnt hands together and hisses, words to Alex PC can’t hear, but the human is nodding and looks relieved. He hurries to Espeon’s side, content that because Davey and Tulip are excitedly repeating their kills to each other, that they are alright. 

He picks her up, gently pats her head; she wiggles, kicks in his arms. “This is not therapy hour!” she shouts. “Let me go! Cake and grief counseling later!”

“I just got worried,” he says, and releases her; she drops to the floor with a huff.

“Don’t be,” she says. “We’re doing great.”

Too great, he thinks. The only injury so far is the Spartan’s burnt hands, and for them that’s hardly an injury…

As if they can hear his anxieties, the Elders speak up once again: “You’re doing very well. We find it endearing how you celebrate even the fall of tactless pawns…”

“That’s some GLaDOS shit right there,” Espeon says, shaking her head. “Don’t listen to ‘em.”

The Spartan nods. “Overconfidence kills more than just bodies,” it says. “Room by room, we go. Enemy by enemy.”

PC swallows hard. It can’t be this easy. It’s never this easy. 

Memories of not real never was flicker in his head, and not for the first time, he wonders if perhaps there is a tank, and there is a commander, but he’s got it wrong and in fact the tanked one is him and all of this is—

Breathe, says Eylion. 

He tries. The actions rings false false false not real not real not real—

Look, says Eylion, and brings his gaze across the ‘map’ to his friends, who linger at the far edge of the resource hub and peer into the next room. Beyond them he sees… plants?

A greenhouse, says the Ethereal.

Right, he thinks. A greenhouse… for what?

Experiments, maybe, says Eylion, but the words come with the sense of a shrug. Maybe they just wanted something of home. 

I miss home, PC thinks, and it’s the first time he’s really let himself say that. 

Fight for it, says the Ethereal. The battle remains as long as the Elders do.

He takes another breath, and tries to remember everything Alice has ever told him about managing anxiety. He squares his shoulders, feels the weight of the sword across his back, hears the soft hum of the complex and the quiet utterances of his friends. 

He takes the last few steps between himself and them, and the Spartan gives him a gentle thump just past where the hint of his sword rests, between the shoulders. 

“You ok?” asks Alex.

“Nervous,” he says.

“Yeah,” they say. “Me too.” They give him a smile. “So you’re in good company.” 

“Guess so,” he answers, and he’s smiling too. “Ready?” he asks the group, even though he doesn’t feel as prepared as he sounds.

“Oh, baby, you don’t even know,” says Espeon.

“Alright then,” he says. “Forward march.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * screams in determination * second semester of sophomore year of college has started but WERE GONNA FINISH THIS FIC I S2G—


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

They all pause in the doorway of the next room, the humans gasping at the intricate dark purple terrace that runs in loops across the ceiling, purple blue tinted glass between the lines. It gives the image of being under a wave as it crests, but upside down, and PC releases a breath he doesn’t know he is holding. 

It’s a straightforward room, a large frosted glass panel marking the exit across from them. On either side are a few of square purple ‘garden plots’, the furthest ones away bigger than the ones closer to the group. Within them alien foliage— most are a variety of tendril like plants, deep purple dark stalks with glowing bulbous growths on them. Some are slightly thinner and more tentacle like, a gradient of light blue emerging their tips. 

“I wonder what this is for,” Davey muses aloud, the end of his sentence drowned out by the sound of reality tearing once again. Three Heavy Floaters erupt from it, scattering in different directions, and are followed by a Cyberdisc in disc form, which hums as it comes straight at them. 

“Move to cover!” the Spartan barks, and the humans quickly crouch down and press against the nearest structures— Davey in an alcove in the wall, Tulip and Alex next to each other by a garden plot, Espeon jumping up onto the housing platforms and ducking behind a plant. 

PC darts to half cover on the opposite side of the room to Tulip and Alex against another of the plant plots, trying to keep attention on where every enemy is, only to start slightly as plasma shots whizz precariously close overhead of him. 

The Spartan takes aim at the Floater trying to pin PC, taking a couple of shots itself to the back as the two other Floaters try and distract it with engagement. 

The Spartan manages to fire, the plasma burning away through one of the Floater’s arms, and knocking it slightly down, giving PC a moment in which to draw his sword and bring it hard against the Floater multiple times. 

It takes one - two - three hits until he works his way through its thick shell, the biorobot’s internal organics giving off a burnt smell as the sword meets them. 

As he moves to a standing position, Tulip and Alex take shots at the Cyberdisc as it switches forms. While they provide suppressing fire, the Spartan releases one hand from its gun, and reaches for one of the Floaters bothering it. It grabs the one by the arm and swings it into the other, the biorobots haphazardly spraying plasma fire, barely hitting Espeon and racketeering into their own Cyberdisc teammate. 

Davey darts across the room, ducking flush against the glass matte of the far doorway, before he too fires a plasma round, back at the Floaters which are still pestering the Spartan but momentarily attempting to orientate themselves. 

PC moves up around the plot Espeon continues to take cover inside, and comes behind the Cyberdisc— he gets his sword inside of it, and thrashes around, until the blade catches onto something. 

“Go help the Spartan! Now!” he says to the humans, and they move, just in time and just far away enough to avoid the oncoming blast. He dives at Espeon while he yells at her to flatten herself, covering her with his body as the Cyberdisc explodes, feeling shrapnel piercing through his clothes and cut against his external self, and he hisses. 

“Are you ok?” calls Alex, voice muffled under the sound of the Spartan battering the Floaters against each other again. 

“He’s fine,” says Espeon as she wriggles from under him, firing a Psybeam that cuts through both Floaters and drops them dead onto the metal floor. 

They convene with Davey, who gingerly helps the Spartan remove the medical kit about its waist and after a little explanation of how it works (the Spartan’s medical supplies are different the ones the humans have), applies the contents to the other’s wounds. PC notices Alex’s nose is dripping blood again. 

Espeon sniffs at PC’s injuries. “You are fine, aren’t you?” she asks. 

“I’m ok,” he says, although to be honest the wounds sting and are spilling the sensation of phantom blood. 

Espeon nods, pleased, and then clambers up him to sit on his shoulder. 

“Thanks for warning us about the exploding one,” Tulip says before he can ask Alex if they’re alright, voice dry. 

“I did warn you,” he says, “and you got out of the way just fine.” 

“You didn’t warn us, you just said ‘go help the Spartan’ and got all authoritative about it,” she answers. 

“He is bonded, he is the authority,” murmurs the Spartan, nodding thankfully at Davey, who just grunts something in response. 

“Oh, no, I am not,” PC begins, but is cut off by—

“Your leader is not even the one to be affected, and his aid is little more than a child itself. You believe just because they mistakenly aiding your cause that they should be followed.”

“I don’t think having the Elders agree with you is a good look,” says Alex quietly.

“My disagreement is based on performance anxiety, and also general anxiety, not any actual logic,” he answers, and the humans laugh. 

The Elders hums. Espeon and Tulip hum aggressively back. There is no response.

The Spartan looks through the doorway. “What now?” it asks.

“There’s something really Psionic in the next room,” Alex says, wiping the blood from their face with their wrist. That explains it then. 

“It must be the relay portion then, if I remember what all can spawn right,” PC says. “We’re close.”

“And you will get no closer,” says one of the Elders.

“Given how good we’ve been going so far, you’re in no position to say shit like that,” says Espeon back, lashing her tail. “Or maybe we’re just so good you’re getting scared.”

“You are very lucky,” concedes one of the Elders, only to be hushed as another corrects it. “You get this far only because we allow it, only because our underlings are weak and you, humans, prove again to be the near perfect species we have hoped you to be.”

“Aww, flattery will get you nowhere,” Tulip says.

“You could be less rebellious,” notes one of them. “If you would give up this pointless attempt to ‘stop’ us, you would find your world and lives transformed for the better.”

“Dudes, dudettes, whatever, we all know you just wanna turn humanity into Avatar slurry, no need to pretend with the utopia stuff,” says Espeon. 

There is no response except, perhaps, a sigh.

“Let’s keep moving,” PC says. “They’re bound to keep trying to get into our heads. Or at least demoralize us. Whatever they can do, I don’t doubt they’ll try.”

“Let’s go kick their ass,” says Espeon, springing from his shoulder to the floor as they enter the Psionic relay room. 

“Or get our asses kicked,” mumbled Davey.

Faith, hums Eylion outloud. We will win here like many have before. 

That was just games, PC says internally. You’re meant to win.

We’re meant to win here too, it replies to just him. If we do not—

“I know, I know,” he says, only realizing it is outloud after he has said it. 

He raises his voice to the others. “They probably are getting pretty nervous. Stay sharp— things are probably gonna get a lot harder from here.”


	38. Chapter 38

The Psionic relay opens with three paths, one down the center to a control panel like computer, flanked by elerium generators. The other two paths are like walkways, and when they reach the other side of the room they lead up to two inert Psi Gates. Beyond those, a bridge riddled with side generators and ending at a large open doorway.

(He can’t see into the next room, though. He doesn’t need to. He knows what comes next.)

Reality tears once again, between the Psi Gates, and out comes not only a pair of elite mutons and a berserker, but a at least 9 foot tall robot with a large chassis and two stomping legs. 

“Oh,” says PC. “Oh, that’s not good.” 

“Hey, Alex?” calls Tulip as she ducks for cover against a wall, the mutons firing their weapons into the empty air. Alex has flattened themselves near where they entered, and Davey has streaked across the room to take shelter by the computer panels. The Spartan skitters to press against the other wall, eyes on the Sectopod. 

“Yeah?” 

“Any qualms about mind control? ‘Cause we could really use it right now!”

PC, huddled with Espeon, looks back behind him toward Alex. The human is swallowing hard, and he sees purple flicker in their dark eyes. “I’m willing to try,” they respond, and splay fingers toward the berserker, purple sparks flying from them. 

Espeon fires a ball of Psionic energy at a leg of the Sectopod; the robot shrieks, a electronic scream that makes her cringe, and the robot rears back, takes aim at them— a hail of bullet comes flying from its underbelly, and PC drops to the floor, Espeon doing the same. 

The berserker, on route to Davey, stops. Its eyes flicker purple. PC can hear Alex breathing heavily, a hum of straining from their lips. The berserker turns to its subordinates, and puts a punch into the head of one before the other fires at it. 

The Sectopod continues to barrage PC and Espeon, even as Davey crouches up halfway to lean over the computer panel and shoot at its side, even as the Spartan unloads a plasma round into it. PC feels the impression of gritted teeth, and suddenly he is running, flinging himself beneath the Sectopod and sliding, one hand raising his sword to its underbelly and slicing through. He emerges staggering, the robot smoking and beeping, only to yelp as one of the mutons fires through his chest. 

“Bitch!” yells Espeon, firing a Null Lance at the elite muton; she severs one of its legs, sending a cascade of yellow blood across the dark floor and the muton to the ground. PC manages to fumble for his sword and stab it just behind the neck, ducking as Alex’s mind controlled berserker swings a fist above him to collide with the remaining muton’s face. PC maintains his downward push, and the muton on the floor stills.

He’s gasping, he realizes. As if he has real lungs that have been damaged. Silly, really, he thinks, as the world blues for a moment— PC pulls the sword from the corpse and lets one hand rise to the hole in himself. Phantom blood pours around his fingers. He shakes his head. Focus, focus.

The Spartan has joined Davey at the computer panel, periodically ducking back down to avoid the Sectopod’s bullets as they fire plasma into it. Espeon races across the room, clambers up the robot’s leg, and fires a Psionic ball into its servos— there is a cracking, sparks and smoke as the leg is detached and sent clattering, and then a thunderous crash as the Sectopod tips over. 

PC does not see Espeon. Fear in his heart. He blinks from regular vision to the tactical—

There she is, leaping away from the generators. She ducks into the safety of the computer, and curls in on herself. The air around her, Davey, and the Spartan shimmer purple as the generators spark ominously. PC looks toward Tulip, who is coming toward him and the mutons from the other walkway.

“Wait!” he yells, backpedaling toward the access bridge as he does. “Get away from the —“

The generators go off. There is green and grey and force; he’s pushed hard against the closed door in the wall, knocked to the floor. All he can hear is ringing. There is nothing but fog of war in his tactical vision, and nothing but smoke in his eyes. 

“Tulip? Alex?” he calls.

A cough from near the left psi gate, and then from near where they came in, the sound of Alex hissing through their teeth. Relief floods his senses. 

“Davey? Spartan? Espeon?”

He blinks as he gets to his feet. In tactical, he sees a bubble surrounding the latter three, unpenetrated by the blast. Espeon is pawing at it, her eyes narrowed; he imagines he can hear her, that she is swearing and confused, and the idea calms him slightly. 

The berserker is getting up, eyes no longer hazed with violet. It turns on him, and its partner nearby reaches for their weapon— he prods Elyion, who furiously fires off a Null Lance, cleanly taking the arm of the muton off and kicking it back. He dives for the plasma gun, grabs it, turns it in his hands and fires as the berserker barrels down on him. 

A purple burst of Psionic energy suddenly rips through the berserkers chest and through his abdomen; he howls, the berserkers howls, and he gags on the bloods that spews out of the body onto him. Alex stands behind it, panting. “Sorry,” they sign to him. Their hand is splattered with blood, which still steadily oozes from their nose. 

“ASL,” he manages.

A nod. 

“I didn’t know you knew ASL,” he continues.

“Is now—“ A pant, a huff from behind him. “Is now really a good time for languages class?” Alex reaches down to him, and he lets them pulls him to his feet; when he turns, he sees Tulip, who has her hands pressed to a wound in her side.

“Oh, shit, where did that—“

“Shrapnel,” she wheezes. “From the explosion.”

He glances toward the Psionic bubble again. Espeon is on the Spartan’s head, throwing herself against it. It’s ok, he thinks, hands running across his own body to his medkit. It’s ok. It’s ok. 

Keep it, says Elyion, as he starts to remove it. I will heal her. Before he can object, his body moves on its own accord, returning the medkit to his waist and reaching toward Tulip. Somewhat hesitantly, it instructs her to lie down, and wraps his hands around the piece of shrapnel in her side. 

“Aren’t you supposed to keep it in?” she asks.

I am not a doctor, says Elyion, and pulls. 

Tulip screams, PC and Alex cringe. Blood gushes from the wound, PC’s hands becoming sticky with it as Elyion presses them against her skin and hums. A green glow envelopes them, and slowly the bleeding lessens, and then stops. Tulip is breathing heavily, teeth clenched. Elyion smiles down at her with PC’s face, and stands up. PC is returned his body then, and helps Tulip to her feet; she’s shaky, nearly collapsing on him. 

“Are you ok?” asks Alex.

“I’ve been better,” she says.

There’s a soft noise of Espeon’s body hitting the metal floor, and Davey’s relieved sigh. The three come hurrying over, the Spartan scanning the humans first, and then PC. It points to his chest.

“Your injury remains,” it says.

“Right,” he says, and runs his fingers across it. He begins to concentrate, only to break that when Alex’s hand lands on his. 

“I’ll do it,” they say, batting his hand out of the way they pinch the wound together, igniting purple fire about their fingers. The wound seals, and Awakening responds in kind, new stitches materializing to keep the hole shut. They step back from him, eyes on the Psi Gates now. 

“How many do you think there are?”

“Does it matter?” says Tulip. “I mean, when we’re going to kill them and make the Gates useless anyway?”

“What if they lead to other worlds?” they say.

“They most certainly do,” says the Spartan. “But these ones are of little concern; they are inactive.”

“Then I’m picking up on something else…?”

“The Elders,” says Davey. “They’re Psionic themselves. Isn’t there some kind of coffins in the next room that they’re inside?”

PC nods. “Sarcophagi,” he says. “I… I don’t know if we should destroy those, or kill the Proto-Avatars, or both, or neither, or—-“

“Relax, pillow boy,” says Espeon, coming to rub herself against his legs much like a cat. “Game says kill them, so we’ll do that. We’ll smash the fuckers too just for insurance. No kill like overkill, am I right?” 

PC waits for the Elders to speak. To demean them. To minimize their efforts. To say anything.

But these Elders are quiet. 

PC swallows. They’re standing near the door into the final room. “We could still…” He falters. “We could still turn— I mean, go, I mean—-“

The others shake their heads at him. 

“We have gotten this far,” says the Spartan. “We win, or we die. There is no point of return now.”

“I think it’s ‘this is the point of no return’,” says Tulip. 

The Spartan shrugs. “Human phrase,” it says. “My way still got the message across.”

PC runs his fingers across the ribbon around his neck. 

For the Hoard. For the Beholden. For Earth. For the humans he has brought into this. For humanity. 

“Let’s finish this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘wolf why are updates so sporadic now’ I’m in College Hell Don’t @ Me Thanks


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

They walk together into the last room, greeted by a large statue of a Elder that sits in front of a half wall in the center of the walkway. PC presses against it, followed by the humans; the Spartan takes up position on the other side.

PC peers around the wall— there are two sarcophagi on either side just behind it, and then four more centered around a pillar in the middle of the room; to the left and right and against the back wall are stairs leading to inert Psi Gates.

Pools of water accentuate the floor, disturbed and shaking as the Gates each hum to life. Somewhere, a Elder makes a soft tsk noise. From the left, 2 mutons, an elite, and a floater; from the right two sectoids and an outsider; and from the back, two cyberdiscs.

Reality tears, and out steps one of the proto-Avatars, all grey and black and sleek humanoid robotic form. It lacks the purple face shield and hair, but PC guesses that comes later.

Its form flickers with psionic energy, and it is suddenly no longer near the middle of the room, instead back beside the Psi Gate against the far wall.

"That's a lot of enemies," says Espeon, clinging to his shoulder.

"Aim for the Avatar," PC says, loud enough for the rest of the team to hear him. "Every time a new one comes in, that's our goal. The rest of them are just distractions. Keep covering yourselves and keep moving."

"That's kind of a paradoxical statement there, bud," says Tulip, who cringes as a plasma shot from the oncoming enemy forces goes through the glass wall over her head.

"What about the sarcophagi?" asks the Spartan.

"If you can damage them, great; if not, well, we'll find out soon enough if that's an issue," he answers.

"Affirmative," says the Spartan, and darts from the cover to the wall to behind the sarcophagus flanking the rest of the walkway, avoiding gunfire from the sectoids.

The humans scatter into the room; Tulip ducks behind the sarcophagus opposite from the Spartan, Davey runs the Cyberdiscs hail of bullets to crouch near the centerpiece of the room, Alex takes up the spot the Spartan has left besides the statue. Espeon jumps from PC's shoulder and scampers across the floor, narrowly dodging the fists of the mutons as she takes cover behind a small alien planter.

PC remains where he is, sword tight in his hands as he points it toward the Avatar and channels psionic energy down its length— it goes crackling through the air, a focused Null Lance, slamming the proto-Avatar against the back wall for a moment before the latter teleports away.

His attention shifts as the Elite comes upon him, switching to one handedly swinging the sword at the alien's legs, knocking it off balance; he spools Psionic energy about his free hand, and punches at the Elite, who punches back, sending him flying back toward the entrance door. Alex fires a Null Lance from their position by the statue, cutting through the Elite's side as it begins to rise to its feet. It bellows, spit flying from its mouth, yellow blood splattering the ground. PC scrambles for his sword with both hands and struggles up just in time to stab the Elite in the stomach.

Somewhere, PC hears plasma shots, alien cries, and then Espeon yelling in triumph, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor. There is another louder plasma shot, and then the sound the proto- Avatar teleporting again. He flicks his vision in tactical— Espeon is still behind the planter, whispers of purple about her. Good, he thinks, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He checks on the others quickly: Tulip is exchanging fire with the mutons, Davey is still avoiding the Cyberdiscs as he tries to land a shot on the proto-Avatar (it's near the right hand Gates now), the Spartan has felled the sectoids and their commander (from the looks of it, their mind controlled actions were the source of the proto-Avatar's most recent move.)

The right hand Gate hums again, and out comes 2 regular Floaters, followed by a heavier one. The Cyberdiscs move forward, both flanking Davey now on either side of the middle structure. The remaining muton is shot down mid run by him, as he flees toward the left Psi Gate; he yells as one of the 'discs finally lands a shot, a sizzling sound of plasma against flesh, but manages to get across the room and press himself up against the wall, gun in hand and teeth gritted. He fires back, and the 'disc that attacked him goes off, exploding into shrapnel that peppers the human. He cries out, and there is blood on the floor.

Tulip fires at the other 'disc, accompanied by a Psionic ball of energy from Espeon, and it explodes too, taking two of the approaching Floaters with it. The Spartan is given a clean second shot at the proto-Avatar, and takes it.

The proto-Avatar collapses, a ghostly purple figure rising from its corpse. "You will be overrun. You bring yourselves to the doorstep of defeat so willingly," it says, before dissipating into the air; one of the sarcophagi, the one Tulip is crouched behind, dims slightly.

"Guess we don't have to break them," PC murmurs to himself as he jogs across the room toward the right hand Gate, barely reacting as the remaining floater fires into his chest. He slashes at it, knocks it from the air, and grinds his sword into it— it dies whining and sparking, and he twists away from the small flickers of fire emitted slightly more panicked then he'd like.

Davey has climbed on top of the middle structure, shouting to the rest as the back Gate flares to life and produces 2 elites and a second Proto-Avatar. The Avatar teleports away back behind the entry wall, and the elites break left and right, one toward Tulip (who fires at it; the Elite fires back, nails her in the shoulder, she screams) and the other at PC, who pushes it back with a Psionic wave of energy. He hears Alex shout, and looks back: the wall is engulfed in a purple vortex.

"Get out of there!" he yells at them. They hurry out of the blast zone, ducking against the middle structure as the vortex claps together, the wall shattering, glass falling onto their collective heads. The statue goes falling too, the humans leaping out of the way to the right side of the room, the Elite bearing down on Tulip crushed beneath it as it crashes hard onto the floor. The walls of the place remain steady— Alex gets up from against the floor and fires a Null Lance at the proto-Avatar, knocking it against the entry wall before it teleports away again.

PC feels hands grasp at him, turns just in time to see the proto-Avatar behind him, lifting its Psionic rifle to his lower middle and firing. He cries out, kicking furiously, but to no real avail.

Suddenly: "Hey!"

He's knocked forward as something slams into the Proto-Avatar that still has its grip on him; it releases him, turns— Espeon stands on the stairs of the right Psi Gate, lashing her tail.

"There's more where that came from, fucker!" she yells, and lets loose another ball of psionic energy at the proto-Avatar.

PC staggers away, chest heaving, barely conscious of the fact the Spartan comes and grabs him by the back of the shirt, depositing him against the right side of the middle structure. He stares into space, blinking hard, trying to regain his senses.

He hears plasma go off, hears a Gate hum, hears alien footsteps, hears the Avatar teleport again. So much noise. His head hurts. His chest hurts. He's wheezing hard; the wound he shrugged off before is blending with the shot to his abdomen now and everything aches.

His brain is flickering him back to things that never were, wondering where is the blood, how is he breathing, where is the fire and alarms and smoke —

Up, says Elyion, pushing him from his slumped and dazed position, shattering the illusion of a burning building slowly forming around him. Up, up. There's still a battle to be won.

Right, he thinks back. Right. He takes a shuddering breath, shakes his head, and checks tactical.

Espeon is fleeing the right hand Gate, where two Outsiders are emerging from. Davey remains on top of the middle structure, engaging the proto Avatar below, even with his hurt leg. Tulip and Alex run together across the room to cover besides the fallen statue, avoiding the hail of bullets from two more Cyberdiscs that have entered from the back. The Spartan is behind another alien planter on the right, firing at a second proto Avatar as it exits from the left Gate.

PC peers around the middle structure and fires a Null Lance at the second proto-Avatar; somewhere else, he hears Espeon yelp, and then the sound of a body hitting the floor.

A Elder's voice rings across the room: "What will you do if you succeed here? How will you get home? You will die here with us, foolish quest realized or not."

"You know, they've got a point," calls Tulip, from her half seated position in a crook of the statue, as Alex messily applies bandages to her shoulder wound.

"They're Elders, they don't have any points at all," Espeon yells back, dodging the plasma fire of the Outsiders, back and forth and zig and zag. "They're incorporeal!"

"You know that's not what I mean," Tulip says.

"We'll run back to our Gate, won't we?" asks Davey, voice raised over the sound of the Cyberdiscs humming.

"Probably with all these bastards on our tail, but sure, that sounds about right," says Tulip, rising slightly from her place behind the statue to fire a barrage at the oncoming Cyberdiscs, Alex supporting her with a Psionic pushback wave followed by two quick Null Lances.

Espeon reaches PC, ducking behind his legs as the Outsiders come upon him; he just barely manages to grab his sword in time, taking a shot to the head in the half beat it takes to swing at them. From below Espeon fires small balls of psionic energy, pushing the Outsiders back back back until the Spartan is able to fire at them and they collapse into their telltale shards.

From atop the middle structure Davey shoots at the last present proto-Avatar as it shoots at him; he manages to duck, the Psionic rifle fire narrowly brushing his hair, and loads three shots into its chest. It staggers, but remains up. PC steps from behind the middle structure toward it and fires a Null Lance of his own at it— it meets that with its own Null Lance, and the beams battle each other, and PC thinks he understands.

The building rumbles around them. Without looking away, PC calls, "it's time for you all to get out of here."

Espeon begins to say something, only to be silenced as Davey jumps down from atop the middle structure and scoops her up. The building is shaking now, support pillars snapping; Tulip and Alex take the Spartan's hands and rise when it comes to them, and the group of them run.

Still meeting the proto-Avatar's attack PC follows them via tactical back through the fortress. They dodge falling beams and crashing walls, water pouring in as the generator room is all but destroyed, but they make it, he sees them make it— he sees through to Alice still holding the shard up on the other side, sees Davey limp run through with Espeon in his arms, sees Tulip and Alex holding hands as they run through it together, sees the Spartan bringing up the rear.

He relaxes slightly and proto-Avatar knocks him clean through the entry wall onto the Psi bridge, the sound of his sword clattering muffled by the crash of the last room's walls as they fall to the pressure of the ocean.

He is on his side, struggling to get up on his feet, when he sees the sarcophagi crushed, splintering under the weight of the glass walls and then washed away into the oncoming tide. The Proto-Avatar is swallowed up into the dark. (But he feels its Psionic signature extinguish.)

They did it. They did it. And the humans got home safe.

Relief floods him. The water rolls over him, slams him against the floor. He lets it happen, lets himself be dragged along by the harsh current.

It's over.

It's over.

The fortress stretches before him as he is pulled away from it further into the black, the water relentlessly tearing it asunder before his eyes. It all falls away into the cold and the dark.

Eylion's voice then, as the water sinks into every fiber of his being: tell me where you want to go, and I will get you there.

He curls into himself, gathers his frayed edges and pushes the stuffing that is trying desperately to spill out back in with shaking hands, and thinks of home.

He thinks of home—

He thinks of—

It has been nice, being your Ethereal.

It's been nice being your host, he manages to think back.

I am going now, the Ethereal says, to whenever beings go when they have finished their time on planet Earth.

Thank you for being my friend, Pillow Central.


	40. Chapter Forty

When he wakes up, world spinning and self aching aching aching, he is lying on his stomach. Someone is half seated on his back, has removed his clothes, is sewing the back exit hole of the gun wound that never did get sewn.

He tries to ask where he is, but only manages a rather pitiful groaning sound. The person sewing gently pats him. "Oh, c'mon, it can't be that bad."

"Tulip?" he says between heavy breaths, despite the chest wound being closed. "Alex? Davey? Espeon? Alice? Spartan?"

In turn, they answer, and the tenseness in him eases. He lifts himself up slightly to see Alex and Davey both sitting nearby, the Spartan in the doorway, only to get squashed as Espeon launches herself at him, despite Alice's warning from her place in Alex's lap.

"Bitch I thought you fucking got got by the Elders! How dare you!" she almost shouts; he grimaces at the noise.

"Please," he says, "a little quieter..."

Espeon blinks. "Oh sorry," she says, and lowers her voice. "I thought you died, asshole! Goddamn!"

"But I didn't," he says, and winces as Tulip makes the last stitch and secures her work with a knot; he feels at his abdomen, the wound is sewn as well. It stings still, though. "What happened?"

"Only you and your Ethereal know that," says Alice. "The psigate closed after Espeon and the others returned."

She blinks; he sees she is holding her paws together, and that they tremble. "When you did not follow after them back here, I was almost certain you were lost." Her voice is very small.

"Hey," he says, "hey, I'm right here. Mission accomplished."

"Damn right baby," says Espeon, and does her best approximation of a feline dab. Davey rolls his eyes at her.

Tulip stands up and backs away from PC. "You're all set," she says, helping him to his feet and passing him a bundle of new clothes. He sets to work putting them on, wincing as his astral limbs return with their phantom wounds and stinging and blood. He rubs his arms, tries to ease it.

"So is that it?" asks Alex. "Is it over? We won?"

"We won," PC says. "After you all left, the entire fortress collapsed, and I felt the final Avatar die, alongside the destruction of the sarcophagi..." He feels his jaw drop just a little as he relays this, as it connects in his own mind, feels a smile slowly play at the corners of his mouth and widen, widen, widen. "So yeah… I guess we did win."

A cheer among the humans, broken only when Davey mumbles, "Damn, I don't want to go back to bartending" as he stands up, leaning on a makeshift crutch. Alex stands as well, passing Alice to PC. Espeon clambers up his leg all the way up onto his shoulder.

The Spartan shuffles foot to foot in the doorway. "We are departing," they say. "But I wanted to thank you again. For allowing me to escape, both times. It will be repaid."

"We'll come see you off," he says, and follows the Spartan out of the room- he hears his friends behind him.

When he steps out into the field the psigate building is in, he is not expecting a sunrise, but there it is, in glorious oranges and pinks, stacked streaks like an oil painting. On the ground a couple hundred paces ahead a small circular ship, about the size and shape of a standard round swimming pool.

The Spartan stops, turns to PC. "We will find a way to communicate with your planet," they say. "It must be searching for life? We will answer. And we will meet again."

They make their way to the ship; Alex and Tulip come to either side of PC, with Davey next to Tulip.

As the ship rises, a hot fire blast from beneath it, he sees the few members of the Psionic community still here gather and watch from the porch of the Welcome Center.

The ship rises and rises until it is a dot in the sky, and then nothing. PC stares up at where it used to be.

Tulip breaks the quiet: "What now?"

"I think," says PC, "it's time to go home."

(And so they do.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally ... it is Done.


End file.
